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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588104">the weight of these wings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachthorns/pseuds/peachthorns'>peachthorns</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the weight of these wings [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Character Development, Childhood Trauma, Daryl Dixon finds himself without the ZA, Demisexuality, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Male-Female Friendship, Past Child Abuse, Scars, See also: Daryl Dixon finds himself and his family without the ZA, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, THE GROWTH HONEY, bethyl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:08:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachthorns/pseuds/peachthorns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl was fine with waiting on his brother to get out of jail so they can move on to the next town, but his life just keeps getting more and more crowded. When an accident brings in a whole new group of folks who seem determined to stay put, he tries to come to terms with the fact that he might as well suck it up and try to make room for them. Especially for this blonde girl, who ends up taking up a hell of a lot more room than he thought she would. </p><p>But can he keep his demons from his past at bay, or will the weight of these wings wear him down?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daryl Dixon &amp; Carol Peletier, Daryl Dixon &amp; Daryl Dixon's Dog, Daryl Dixon &amp; Hershel Greene, Daryl Dixon &amp; Merle Dixon, Daryl Dixon &amp; Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the weight of these wings [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>178</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>196</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. what lies ahead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been sitting on this for a while, and I figured it's finally time to start trying to post a real story on here. Thanks to everyone who commented on my shorter works and gave me the confidence to try this for real 💛<br/>Title is from the Miranda Lambert album of the same name; it seemed fitting with Daryl's vest.</p><p>bonus points if you get the chapter one title reference ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He and Dog are hunting when it happens. </p><p>They had their same routine they have every Saturday. They wake up at the ass crack of dawn, and he scolds Dog for scooting from his designated spot on a throw blanket at the foot of the bed up to put his head on the pillow next to him like a damn person. Dog hangs his head and wags his tail guiltily until Daryl relents and gives him a consolatory pat. </p><p>Daryl climbs out of bed and stretches, which Dog takes as an invitation to jump up and put his paws on his bare chest to try to lick his face, elated to start their day. He grunts and tries to hold back a smile. Dog’s toenails scratch his chest a little, but he figures he has enough scars that a few scratches aren’t a big deal.</p><p>He shrugs on old t-shirt with ripped-off sleeves, a flannel, and some jeans, not bothering to shower ‘til tonight since they’ll spend all day out in the woods anyway. </p><p>He feeds Dog, makes himself an egg sandwich for the road, and fills up a thermos with some coffee. He grabs a small bag and stuffs it with an extra sandwich for lunch, some water bottles, and the pop up doggie water bowl that Carol got him for Christmas. He rolled his eyes at it at the time, but damned if the thing ain’t useful. It flattens down to almost nothing, but you can pop it open into a regular sized dog bowl. Pretty clever shit.</p><p>His crossbow, arrows, and hunting knife are already in his backseat where he put them last night. He lives out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere anyway and doesn’t have to worry about break-ins way out here. Besides, his Dixon reputation precedes him enough that even if some townspeople make it out this far, they know better than to screw with him. The Dixons aren’t from the area; they’re from the north Georgia mountains. But he and Merle drifted through here a little over a year ago, and Merle wrecked havoc on the town for a few months until he got locked up. Not knowing what the hell else to do without Merle, Daryl just stayed put ever since. </p><p>And slowly, he’s developed more of a life than he thought he ever could without his big brother, not that it’s much compared to most folks. </p><p>He’s rentin’ a little cabin on a piece of land from a dude who looks like he belongs on fuckin’ <em>On Golden Pond</em>, but he really ain’t all that bad once you get to know him. Hell, he gave Daryl a chance back when he had no redeeming qualities whatsoever and not enough money for a deposit. And he has Carol and Sophia, too. For the first time in his life, holidays have started to mean something. He has to scratch his head at the Walmart and spend way too damn long looking at girl stuff, buy wrappin’ paper, all that. </p><p>He didn’t know what he thought would happen to him without Merle, because the thought of it was enough to bring the kinda raw panic into his throat that he would just shove it back down and not think about it. Of course, he was more worried about his brother overdosing than getting locked up, but even with him in jail, his absence felt like a phantom limb at first. He’d been chasing his brother around Georgia since he was sixteen years old. Damn near twenty years of his fuckin’ life being his shadow and livin’ the kinda life he never wanted. He never wanted to be a piece of shit, he just didn’t see any other way, so he did it so he wouldn’t have to be alone. He’d be goddamned if he didn’t do it well, too. </p><p>Somehow with Merle in jail for a year now, he’s starting to feel like a regular ass person almost. He has a real job with a W2 for the first time in his life. Files his damn taxes (Dale had to teach him how). Got two friends (yeah, one’s a kid, but fuck it). Three friends if you count Dog (which personally, he does). Four if you count the gay dude at work who really wants him to come over for dinner soon and meet his husband. </p><p>So yeah, life ain’t that bad. Most days he doesn’t even quite feel like a piece of shit anymore. He doesn’t feel like he’s <em>not</em> a piece of shit either, he just doesn’t marinate on his shittiness so much these days. He still considers himself a pile of redneck garbage, he just has his life together to the extent that he’s a little higher on the white trash totem pole.</p><p>Hunting these days is even productive now, because he doesn’t have Merle stumbling after him high off his ass trying to pick a fight about some dumb shit. Dog is much better hunting buddy.</p><p>Sometimes he just hunts in the woods around the little cabin he and Dog call home, but today they’re driving out to one of his favorite spots. The weather is finally warming up a little, and he wants to enjoy it.</p><p>Before long, they’re listening to some Haggard on the radio, and he’s tappin’ the beat on the steering wheel while Dog hangs his head out the window, tongue flapping and saliva flying.</p><p>Yeah, he thinks to himself. It’s gonna be a good day.</p><p>Boy, was he wrong.</p>
<h6></h6><p>They’d been out there a few hours, and he’d bagged a few squirrels, which he had tied to his belt. But he’d spotted some deer tracks, and that was what they were really after. He wanted to put away some more venison before deer season was over. Dog was helping him track the deer, and he was about to make his shot when he heard it. The unmistakable sound of gunfire, and close. He hears a horrible yelping sound that churns his gut like a meat processor and his blood runs cold. The deer bolts. </p><p><em>No</em>, he thinks. <em>Please god, no.</em></p><p>He drops his bow without even thinking about it and runs as fast as he can, fall to his knees next to Dog. He’s already yanking off his flannel to press it against where the blood is gushing from his abdomen. </p><p>He knew Dog was his constant companion. The only one he never got sick of being around. The only one who never looked at him with any trace of judgment, disgust, or even apathy. Didn’t expect anything from him. Just looked at him with the pure adoration that only a dog can give in those brown eyes. Wagging his tail just because he’s happy his person’s home from work. He knew he was fonder of that dog than he ever cared to admit, even if everyone else could already tell. </p><p>But it wasn’t until Dog was bleeding out through his flannel making his fingers slippery until he realized just how much he fuckin’ loved that hairy mutt. More than he’d ever loved anyone or anything, including his good for nothin’ brother. <em>This</em> was his family. He felt tears blurring his vision and a burning lump in his throat, but he pushed it aside. There would be time for that later. He had to fix this. He couldn’t think about an alternative. </p><p>This dog had changed him in more ways than he cared to admit. Caring for another living thing that cared about him, having someone to come home to, someone he could talk to. Someone who relied on him, needed him, and loved <em>him</em>. It had made him start letting new people into his life. At thirty-four years old, he had made his first real friend. And he knows damn well he never would have been able to do it, to even trust somebody the way he had learned to trust Carol, if it wasn’t for Dog paving the path for her. But it can’t be time for him to go. He fuckin’ <em>needs</em> him. He ain’t even old yet.</p><p>He pushes his pain, and his panic, and his desperation down deep into that place in his gut where it can’t escape, where it spawns him into action. He learned to do that from a young age, and it hadn’t failed him yet. </p><p>“Who was that?” he yells. His voice cracks. “Show your damn face if you’re worth a shit.”</p><p>He’s thinking to himself, <em>no way they’re gonna. They’re gonna bolt, and I can’t even chase ‘em since I gotta keep pressure on the wound</em>, and as he thinks it, he hears a rustling sound and someone does appear. Someone a lot smaller than he expected. A boy no older than Sophia, with shaggy brown hair hanging in his face, wearing a too-big sheriff’s hat. His freckled face is pale and shocked. He’s holding a shotgun loosely at his side.</p><p>“I- I-,” he stammers. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-"</p><p>Daryl feels the fight and the rage leave his body. <em>It’s just a damn kid.</em></p><p>“Grab the first aid kit outta my bag,” he orders, jerking his shoulder toward the crossbow and pack he’d abandoned. </p><p>The boy rushes forward and brings it over. His shaking hands that seem way too small to have done so much damage rummage through it and open the first aid kid. He kneels next to Daryl.</p><p>He didn’t keep much in his first aid kit, but ever since he’d fallen and impaled himself on his own arrow a few years back, he’d learned to always bring enough to patch himself up if needed. He hastily pressed the gauze into the wounds at his hunting companion’ side, bandaging it as tightly as he could with his supplies. He tied his flannel as a tourniquet and prayed silently that it would be enough. </p><p>“I know somewhere we can take him,” the boy says. Daryl looks up and sees the kid’s blue eyes are brimming over with tears. He wipes them away in embarrassment. “My dad’s friend, he owns the farm next to us. He’s a vet. We just moved out here. My new house isn’t even a quarter mile back the way I came from.” </p><p>“My truck’s a few miles back the other way. Y’all got a ride?” he asks.</p><p>The boy nods. “My dad’s home, he’ll take us.” </p><p>Daryl leans to pick up Dog as carefully as he can. Dog is shaking and whimpers at being moved. “Sorry, buddy,” he whispers. He looks up and nods at the boy. “Lead the way.”</p><p>They run as fast as they can. Daryl hears his lungs wheezing and curses himself for abusing them for as long as he was old enough to steal cigarettes. Fortunately, despite having apparently not lived out here that long, the kid is clearly familiar enough that he knows where he’s going and doesn’t hesitate. It feels like an eternity, but he knows it’s only been minutes when the woods begin to clear out into an open field. He can see a farmhouse in the distance, and they pick up the pace. </p><p>“Dad!” the boy yells. He sounds as terrified as Daryl feels.</p><p>The sound of a tractor stops. A man comes barreling around from the other side of the big house. He hears a panicked scream that he knows from the tone alone must be the boy’s father.  “CARL?”</p><p>The man gets to them faster than he thought possible. This dude is in shape. He has piercing blue eyes like his son’s and the beginnings of a beard.</p><p>He takes one look at the dog in Daryl’s arms and skids to a halt. “Shit,” he curses. Daryl can tell from his accent he’s from around here. “Son, what have I told you about going out without me with that damn gun?” He doesn’t give the boy, Carl apparently, a chance to answer. “Come on, y’all get in the truck.”</p><p>And they all run. The truck turns out to be a nice four door F150. Daryl sees it’s new enough that he doesn’t need blood in it, and he makes he way toward the tailgate. He’s about to try to clamber his way up without jostling Dog when the man says, “Nah, back here.”</p><p>He’s surprised to see the man opening the backseat for him. He climbs in without a word. Dog seems to have passed out, and his own heart feels like a hummingbird in his chest. He’s never been so damn scared, and that’s coming from a dude who’d had his ass beaten until he passed the fuck out and a gun held in his face on multiple occasions.</p><p>But somehow this is so much worse than any of that, because Dog ain’t a piece of shit like him. He’s so fuckin’ good. He follows Sophia around like the damn border collie in those movies she loves so much, that Daryl pretends he doesn’t also love, like he just watches them because she wants to.</p><p>All he can think is, thank god Dog’s still breathin’. </p><p>Then he notices the little pink car seat. “Uh, are we leavin’ somebody behind?” he asks. </p><p>The kid’s dad is climbing in the front now and putting it in reverse. “She’s with her mom,” he says. He doesn’t miss the hard tone of voice or the steel that glints in the man’s eyes. He looks haunted. There’s a story there for sure, and he really doesn’t want to hear it right now, so he drops it. </p><p>The man flips out his cellphone while slinging gravel as they pull away from the house and onto the dirt driveway. “Hershel,” he says. “You at home?</p><p>“Listen, we got a situation here. Carl was messing around in the woods like he <em>knows</em> he’s not supposed to,” he shoots his son a withering glare, “and we’ve gotta injured dog. Gunshot. He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s breathin’.”</p><p>Daryl sees the relief flood the man’s face at whatever he hears next, and he feels it himself.</p><p>“Can you do it at your house, or should we meet you at the office?”</p><p>There’s a pause again. “See you in five. Thanks, man.”</p><p>He shoots a look to the backseat at Daryl. “That’s my neighbor, Hershel Greene, good friend of mine. Owns the farm next to us. He’s a vet, and he says he’s got enough stuff he can perform surgery at his house. He doesn’t think we should risk the time it’d take to meet in town at his vet office. He and his daughter are getting stuff ready for us now.”</p><p>Daryl feels something bubble up inside him, and it’s an emotion he banished from his short list of feelings he allows himself a long time ago. But there it is anyway. It’s hope, and that scares him almost more than the fear. Hope is how life can really knock you on your ass.<br/>
.<br/>
“Thanks,” he grinds out, and prays he won’t cry in front of this random man. </p><p>Then, on the dashboard, he sees it. A sheriff’s badge. He freezes, and the skin on the back of his neck prickles all the way down his spine. Just his goddamn luck, finally ending up in the backseat of a cop’s ride after all those years of <em>actually</em> doing illegal shit are now behind him for good. He squints to read the name, because he knows all the local cops from Merle’s bitching. <em>Please don’t let it be Walsh</em>, he thinks. Walsh is the cop Merle punched in the face the last time he got caught for a B&amp;E. That would be his damn luck. Merle broke the man’s nose and his own fingers, he hit him so hard. The second this dude learns Daryl’s last name, he’s gonna get dumped on the side of the road just for bein’ a Dixon, left to fend for himself. He can only hope they’ll continue to take Dog to that vet. Dog can’t help bein’ a Dixon.</p><p>But nope, it starts with a G. <em>Grimes</em>. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, fuckity shit. Even better: Walsh’s partner. This is the sheriff who finally put his brother behind bars about a year back for the meth lab, where he still is today. Where he will be for several more years, thanks to the hard work and thorough investigation of Mr. Grimes. And Daryl is helpless in his back seat, relying on the kindness of this cop to save the life of the one he cares about more than anything in this messed up world. Fuckin’ amazing. He almost laughs out loud.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. prettiest girl around</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Grimes arrive at the Greene farmhouse with the Dixons in tow. Will it be too late for Dog?</p><p>(See also: the universe aligns, and Beth and Daryl's very different worlds come together.)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter title is from Ballad of a Teenage Queen by Johnny Cash: "There's a story in our town / Of the prettiest girl around / Golden hair and eyes of blue / How those eyes could flash at you."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They pull up at a huge old farmhouse, at least twice as big as the Grimes’s. Running out to meet them is a short, skinny blonde girl in cut-offs and a t-shirt. As she gets closer he realizes it’s actual a young woman, probably in her early twenties, she’s just tiny. The truck skids to a stop in front of the house, and she opens the back door for him. Her big blue eyes are wide and where he expects to see panic, he finds determination. Strangely, it makes him feel a little bit better. </p><p>“Daddy’s got the kitchen table prepped for surgery. How long since it happened?”</p><p>Normally calm in a crisis, Daryl’s head swims. It feels it’s been hours, days even. Was it only this morning they were sharing an egg sandwich? His brain is buzzing like static, and he’s completely blank.</p><p>“About fifteen minutes ago,” comes Carl’s tiny, guilty voice.</p><p> She nods. “That ain’t bad then. Y’all come in and we’ll get started.”</p><p>He follows her swishing ponytail without a word, clutching Dog in his arms. It feels like his head is out of his body. None of this feels real. </p><p>When she opens the door to the farmhouse for him, he’s met by an older man in overalls over a long-sleeved flannel with the sleeves pushed up, and latex gloves. He has white hair and a lined face, but he looks sturdy and capable despite his age. </p><p>“How old is your dog?” he asks.</p><p>Daryl shrugs. “Dunno exactly. He showed up about a year ago and still seemed like a pup, so around two, I reckon.”</p><p>“Well, his age gives him slightly better odds for recovery. But I still can’t guarantee his survival.</p><p>“Bring him on into the kitchen. Ease him onto the table with the side with the bullet up. We’ll prep him for surgery, we’ve got everything ready for him,” he says. The man’s voice is slow and soothing. His accent is definitely old country, with a twang like Jimmy Carter. Daryl nods and heads wordlessly after the blonde girl. He doesn’t think he could talk if he wanted to with this fuckin’ knot in his throat.</p><p>He sees there’s a plastic tarp over their kitchen table with the chairs all cleared away, and what he can only assume are surgical tools on a baking tray. As he leans forward to lay Dog onto the table, he feels him start jerking in his arms and whimpering.</p><p>Fear bubbles to the surface. Before he can even call for help, the girl is there. Her cool hands brush his as she leans forward to help stabilize the dog. Hershel isn’t far behind her. </p><p>“He’s havin’ a seizure,” the old man says. </p><p>“I got him,” says the girl. He jerks his head to glare at her. No fuckin’ way he’s letting go. This girl ain’t no bigger than a fifth grader. She meets his eyes, and again, something in them floods a little wave of calm over him. Her eyes are kind and assured. “I got him,” she repeats, more gently this time.</p><p>He backs away, and the girl takes over. “You bandaged him well,” she remarks as she holds down Dog. Her biceps flex impressively for her small frame. She’s clearly a farm girl through and through. She leans into Dog and starts humming soothingly as she strokes his head. In a way, it soothes Daryl too. He can’t place the tune, but it’s something he’s known his whole life. </p><p>The farmer, Hershel, comes over with a shot ready. “This will sedate him while we remove the bullet,” he explains. Daryl nods wordlessly. He’s stitched up Merle before when he got cut in a bar fight and was too methed out to go to the hospital. And they sure didn’t have no shot to knock him out first, just a few shots of whiskey. He’s stitched up his own self in childhood too, when there was no one to take him. He’s no stranger to blood and guts, but bullet wounds are out of his element. </p><p>“Go ahead and get the shot for pain, too,” says the farmer’s daughter. “We don’t want him to suffer any longer than he has to.”</p><p>Hershel nods and grabs another one. “Son,” he says. “I know you’re concerned, but you’re gonna have to give us some space to work here.”</p><p>Then he realizes how close he is still standing to this man’s very small, very nice, very pretty daughter. </p><p>The girl flips her head over her shoulder to shoot him another reassuring look. He notices through his daze that she has a tiny braid in her ponytail. “We’ll take care of him,” she says. Her blue eyes pierce him, and somehow he believes her. </p><p>He leans forward to pet Dog’s head. He’s embarrassed to see how badly his hand is shaking. Dog strains to look at him, and his tail thumps once weakly. Daryl’s eyes fill with tears, and one falls onto Dog’s fur as he leans forward to whisper in his ear. “I’ll be right outside, buddy.”</p><p>Then he strides out of the room without looking back.</p>
<h6></h6><p>When he steps back out on the porch hoping for a moment to himself to calm his breathing before he fuckin’ snaps, of course the boy and the cop are still out there. He can tell from the way they both jerk to look at him when the screen squeaks and from the kid’s red eyes that he’s been verbally getting his ass torn up by his dad, too.</p><p>He thinks about how different it is from his relationship with his own dad, how his pop would have laughed, clapped him on the back, and gotten him a beer for shooting someone’s dog. Hell, he got his rocks off on shooting at the neighbor’s cats when that got too close to their garbage cans. But then he could so much as step on a squeaky floorboard or walk through the room at the wrong time and get a literal ass beating so bad he couldn’t walk right for a week. He shakes his head to snap himself out of that line of thought. Ain’t gonna take him anywhere good. </p><p>The sheriff gives the kid a nudge and he steps over toward him. “I’m real sorry, sir,” he whispers. “I’m gonna give my gun back to my dad until I’m old enough to be responsible. I hope—“ his voice breaks, and his eyes feel with tears again. “—I hope your dog is okay.”</p><p>Daryl just focuses on breathing through his nose and staring over the kid’s shoulder out at the field so his eyes don’t start to tear up too like he’s also a fucking twelve year old. </p><p>He gnaws on his already ragged thumbnail and blinks long and hard. “Y’ didn’t mean to, kid,” he says. “Keep the gun, just learn how to shoot the damn thing.”</p><p>He glances to the boy’s father. “Thanks for the ride. I don’t know what I woulda done if y’all hadn’t known this guy…” he trails off, because the thought makes his gut coil with anxiety. </p><p>“Of course,” the man nods. “Is there anything else we can do? Carl said you left your truck out there, need another ride?”</p><p>He shakes his head. “I ain’t leavin’ him. I, uh, left my crossbow just out in the woods though. Dropped it. And my bag.”</p><p>“I’ll go get it,” Carl says eagerly. His father cuts his eyes to him, and he pauses. “<em>We’ll</em> go get it," he correct himself. "I’m not allowed in the woods by myself for a while.”</p><p>His father extends his hand to Daryl to shake. “I’m Rick Grimes, and that’s my boy, Carl.”</p><p>Here we go, Daryl thinks. He shakes the man’s hand. “Daryl Dixon.”</p><p>He thinks he sees a spark of recognition flash in his eyes when he says his last name, but he could just be fucking paranoid. Maybe this guy arrests so many methhead rednecks in a year he doesn’t have time to have a vendetta against every bad apple in their family tree. He and Merle don’t even look as much alike as they used to, now that his hair is longer. Which is a good thing. It used to get on his nerves so bad to go in a store with every intention of paying for his shit just to get followed around like he was waiting for the right opportunity to stuff a bag of Doritos and a roll of toilet paper down his pants or something. Fuck small towns, man. </p><p>“We’ll be back with your stuff,” Rick says. “Let me give you my phone number. You can call me whenever you need a ride to your truck.”</p><p>A favor from a cop isn’t something Daryl thought he would ever get, much less two. Getting into a cop’s ride twice must mean he’s in the twilight zone or at the end of the world or some shit. But he puts the number in his phone anyway, even though he’s probably just gonna call Carol. </p><p>As they walk back to the truck, he sees the kid’s head hung down to his chest, and it looks like his thin shoulders are trembling. </p><p>“Hey, kid?” he calls out. The boy turns, and sure enough, he looks like he’s crying again. “Ain’t your fault,” he says. “A grown man coulda missed a shot. It happens.”</p><p>The boy nods his head, and Rick looks at him with something like gratitude. </p><p>But it’s true. Daryl grew up with the kind of boys who would fuck with a stray cat, kill a squirrel just because they could, and slowly too, not because they needed dinner. This ain’t one of those kids. He can tell.</p>
<h6></h6><p>He’s on the front porch chain smoking in a rocking chair when the vet emerges from the house who knows how much later. Daryl looks up when he hears the door squeak and hastily stubs out his cigarette. His stomach drops as his sees the bloodstains on his overalls.</p><p>“He gonna be okay?” he asks.</p><p>“He’s lost a lot of blood. We got the bullet out; fortunately, it was still in one piece. We got him stitched up, so now we wait. He isn’t out of the woods yet, but he’s hanging in there.”</p><p>Daryl staggers to his feet. “Thank you,” he rasps. “How much do I owe ya?” </p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” the man says. “Rick already offered to pay the bill, but I refused to charge anyone. Let’s just consider it a favor to a neighbor.”</p><p>He tenses up and scowls. “Ain’t no charity case, and I ain’t your neighbor, neither. How much does this kinda shit cost at your office?”</p><p>The old man sighs. He looks like he’s about to argue, but he takes a look at the set of Daryl’s shoulders and his harshness of his scowl, and he seems to change his mind. “I don’t expect your payment, but I can respect that. I’m estimating the surgery costs at around three thousand dollars.”</p><p>“I can get the money,” Daryl replies without hesitation.</p><p>The old man’s eyes narrow, and Daryl knows what he’s thinkin’. <em>Redneck trash, probably slinging dope.</em> “Now, I don’t know what you have planned here, but—“</p><p>Daryl cuts him off, “Ain’t nothin’ like that, I’m not gonna rob a damn gas station. I’ll sell my bike. You can keep it as collateral til somebody buys it.”</p><p>He doesn’t even want to think about the fact that it’s actually Merle’s bike, and he’ll have a bigger problem on his hands in a few years when his brother gets out of the pen and he’s sold it. That’s a pile of shit to step in on another day. </p><p>“I was going to say, we have payment plans if that’s better for you,” the man says with a small smile. “No need for collateral. Any man who would sell his motorcycle to help a stray dog he’s taken in, I’ll take at his word. And besides, my daughter says that she thinks you seem like a nice man. She’s a wonderful judge of character.” His eyes twinkle.</p><p>Daryl feels the wind let out of sails a little, and he stares at his boots. “Uh, thank you.”</p><p>“Don’t thank me yet, but I did my best. What's your name, son?"</p><p>The panic rises in him again, but surely this old man on his nice farm with his pretty daughter doesn't know about Merle. "Daryl Dixon," he says. </p><p>If his last name means anything to him, he doesn't show it. He reaches out a hand to shake, and Daryl shakes it numbly. </p><p>"I’m Hershel Greene. I'll come and get you when he starts coming to,” he replies. And with that, he returns to the house. Daryl sinks back into the rocking chair and puts his head in his hands.</p>
<h6></h6><p>He stopped praying a long time ago. His mama used to pray, when he was real little. She’d clutch her wine bottle like it was damn rosary beads and beg the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost to save them. To get them out of there. Well, the Good Lord saved her, alright. Burnt her to ashes. Nobody saved him, though. After that, he never prayed again. Figured a God like that had one fucked up sense of humor he didn’t want to tangle with.</p><p>But now here he is again. Doesn’t even know who he’s talking to. Could be Buddha or something for all he knows. Just <em>please please please</em> running through his head on repeat. He don’t even have the words he needs to express what he’s praying for, but he knows he needs this dog. </p><p>He just hates himself, and that's all he can think, over and over. <em>What kinda stupid bastard doesn't put something orange on their dog when they're hunting?</em> It shoulda been him who got shot; he's the one who's supposed to do that kinda thing. It's his own damn fault. </p><p>He doesn’t move again until he hears the door squeak. He snaps his head up to find it isn’t Hershel, but his daughter coming up to him. She’s holding a glass of what looks like lemonade. She also has a few bloodstains on her t-shirt. </p><p>“Hey,” she says with a soft smile. “I’m Beth Greene. Thought you might be thirsty out here.”</p><p>Suddenly, he is hit with how very, very thirsty he is. He stands to take the glass from her and gulps down half of it before answering her. “Daryl Dixon.”</p><p>She holds out her hand for him to shake. He doesn’t notice until he takes it that his is still dirty and covered in blood. Hers are tiny and scrubbed clean, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She smiles, and he feels a weird little jolt. She’s got the kinda sweet, innocent face that makes him feel guilty for looking too long, and he abruptly drops her hand. </p><p>She’s actually really beautiful, in the way that girls who used to wrinkle up their nose if they had to partner with him for a school project were. She looks classy and pure. But she ain’t wrinkling up her little freckled nose. And she has a few callouses on the hand he shook that prove she's no stranger to hard work, despite how she looks. </p><p>He is suddenly painful, excruciatingly aware of the fact that he is unshowered and filthy in just his undershirt, with his hair hanging in his face in lank, greasy strands. The dead squirrels are still tied to his belt.</p><p>If any of this bothers her, she doesn’t show it. “What’s your dog’s name?” she asks. </p><p>“Dog,” he says, already knowing where this is about to go. Carol still gives him hell over Dog’s name. </p><p>But the girl just giggles. “That’s a very appropriate name.”</p><p>He’s surprised enough to look back over at her, and she’s smiling. Everyone thinks the name is stupid. Probably think he's stupid too, and they ain't far off about that part.</p><p>“Yeah, well. Wasn’t gonna keep him. He just showed up at my place and didn’t never leave. I was callin’ him Dog for so long that by the time I gave in and let him in the house, he only answered to Dog. Tried to change 'is name to Cash and he got confused, so I just stuck with it.”</p><p>“Like Johnny Cash?” she asks.</p><p>He nods.</p><p>“That’s one of my favorite singers,” she says.</p><p>He tries to hide his surprise, but apparently it shows on his face, because she giggles again. “What?” she asks. He shrugs noncommittally, and she persists. “What’s that look for?”</p><p>“Dunno. You just look a little young to be listening to Cash, that’s all.”</p><p>“I grew up listening to him. He was my mama’s favorite,” she says.</p><p>“Mine too,” he mumbles, chewing his thumbnail. </p><p>“It makes me kinda sad now,” she says. “Listening to him. Or June Carter Cash. I still do, but it always remind me of her. She used to play him and try to harmonize even though she couldn’t sing.”</p><p>He snorts. “My mom did the same shit. Used to play his records all day long.” </p><p>Talking about his mom still hurts, and that’s why he doesn’t do it. He wants to ask about her mom, and the fact that he even cares enough to consider it freaks him out enough that he would leave on the sheer principle of the thing if Dog wasn’t in her house fighting for his life. </p><p>“My mom died when I was sixteen,” she says. She says it casually, but he can feel the pain there. “I didn’t listen to any of her old music she loved for the longest time, but I finally started again this past year. And I realized I needed that. I needed it back, ya know? It made me feel close to her again.”</p><p>He nods. He knows he should say he's sorry, or he gets it or something, but he's never been good at that. It always falls flat. So he just says, “I was really fuckin’ young when mine died. Seven or eight, maybe. I think I was kinda thinkin’ about my mom when I tried to name him Cash,” he says. He doesn’t even mean to say that part; it just comes out. But she smiles like she gets it, so he goes on. “Like, after her or something. But he was a boy, so I couldn’t name him Tammy.” </p><p>“You could make it his middle name,” she offers. He looks at her, and he sees complete sincerity in her eyes where he expected to find teasing. </p><p>He wants to say that dogs don’t have middle names, that that’s the absolute stupidest thing he’s ever heard. That only dumbass little blonde girls who grow up on nice farms with daddies who are vets would say that kind of stupid bullshit. But inexplicably, he thinks of Carol, and how needlessly mean to her he was in the first months of their friendship, and he pushes it down. <em>Ain’t her fault she’s had a Leave it to Beaver childhood</em>, he thinks.</p><p>“Yeah, guess I could.”</p><p>“I’m not that young, anyway,” she adds.</p><p>He cuts a look over at her through his bangs. “Coulda fooled me.”</p><p>She scowls at him, but the way it scrunches up her nose is too cute to be very intimidating. “I’m not! I’m twenty-two.” </p><p>“Most twenty-two year olds listen to that radio shit, Luke Bryan and all,” he replies. </p><p>She laughs. “Well, my dad says I’m an old soul.”</p><p>He tries to laugh with her, but it sounds more like a small choking sound. And of course, this poor girl keeps trying. He feels a little bad that she's doing everything she can to carry the conversation, but whatever.</p><p>“Were you prayin, before? When I first came outside?</p><p>He’s picking at his cuticles when she asks, and it surprises him enough that he picks it a little too hard and a huge piece of skin comes off. He mutters a curse and wipes the blood on his jeans. “Dunno. I guess. Tryin' to, anyway.”</p><p>“I was praying too, before I came out.” She puts a hand on his forearm and squeezes in a manner that’s probably meant to be comforting. He flinches a little. “He’ll be okay, Mr. Dixon.”</p><p>He just stares at her hand until she moves it away and doesn’t say anything. She starts walking back toward the house. </p><p>As he hears the screen door squeaking open, he blurts out, “Daryl.”</p><p>She looks back at him. “What?”</p><p>“Call me Daryl,” he says. </p><p>She smiles. Her smile is so blinding that he wants to look away, but he can’t. “Okay, Daryl.”</p><p>She goes back inside. He sits on the steps and pulls out another cigarette.</p><p>He sucks in a long breath of nicotine so fast and so harsh that he chokes. He hasn’t talked about his ma in decades. Hasn’t even come up with Carol. What is with this goddamn girl? He wants to be annoyed with her for trying to talk to him so much, but he’s more annoyed with himself for not being a normal fucking person who can hold a conversation. </p><p>And why is he fucking sweating? Why is he even talking to this fucking girl who is only freshly not a teenager? Why’d she have to touch his arm? What the <em>fuck</em>?</p><p>He is so, so, completely and thoroughly fucked.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just wanted to say again, thanks for reading! Extra special thanks to everyone who commented/left kudos. It means more than y'all know!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. carryin' on that ole family tradition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Farmer Rick clearly has some shit going on, but Daryl is too worried about Dog right now to figure much out. </p>
<p>Also, bringing up Sophia is the number one way to get Daryl to talk. Proud uncle vibes.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I uploaded the prequel to this story, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015442">Goodbye, Ed</a> that I highly suggest you read before this chapter to get the background on how Carol and Daryl met.  I think it'll make the chapter more impactful and also clarify a few things.</p>
<p>Title is from "Family Tradition" by Hank Williams, Jr.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message after the –</em>
</p>
<p>Of course Carol don’t fuckin’ answer. Of course. </p>
<p>He sighs, fingers itching for a cigarette. He’s made it through the whole pack, but he’s honestly too stressed to even care how that makes him look right now. He settles for shredding the cuticles on his left thumbnail.</p>
<p>Carol is always naggin’ <em>him</em> to keep his phone charged because there could be an emergency, and now she’s not picking up. </p>
<p>Of course, today is her lady’s book club, so she probably has it on silent. She usually finishes up around 4 or 5. </p>
<p>Ain’t even like he wants a ride to his truck right now, he doesn’t know why he’s getting so pissy. </p>
<p>Except he kinda does. He just needs to talk to her right now, needs to hear her say it’s gonna be okay.</p>
<p>What a pussy he’s become in the last year. Merle is involved in the kinda shit where he can’t even visit him in the pen, because his brother doesn’t want folks knowing who his family is, says it ain’t safe. But he’s kinda relieved, because he knows damn well that Merle would see the change in him on his face even through the visitation glass. They talk on the phone every now and then (mainly when Merle calls to bitch about needing money on his books). Merle always wants to hear the kinda stories about life on the outside that Daryl doesn’t experience to tell anymore. Honestly, he never would have if it weren’t for his big brother. He never really wanted a life of strip clubs, drug deals, and hot wiring cars; he just wanted to be left the fuck alone. He mumbles excuses when they talk, because the thought of telling Merle what he’s really been up to kinda makes him want to puke. <em>Yeah bro, just had game night over at Carol and Sophia’s. They taught me how to play Monopoly. Carol made potato salad.</em></p>
<p>Jesus Christ, who is he anymore?</p>
<p>He settles for telling Merle about hunting trips, the nicest cars he’s worked on at the shop where he works, stories about Dog, and rubbing it in by audibly cracking a cold one next to the speaker, making his brother groan with envy. Honestly, he is enjoying his talks with Merle now that he’s in prison more than he has in years. He’s still a pain in the fucking ass, but off drugs, he’s tolerable. Reminds him of how things used to be in the old days, really. He’s also relieved to no longer be dragged around town to be extra muscle at deals "just in case,” or hanging around at seedy bars and motels with Merle shoving women at him. Half the time, the chicks were so fucked up that he felt too sorry for them to do anything with them even he’d wanted to, but Merle didn’t share those qualms. </p>
<p>One thing about his big brother, though. Merle actually was pretty fond of Dog too. Dog first showed up at the piece of shit trailer they were both crashing at owned by a buddy of Merle’s, not too long before shit hit the fan. Back then, Dog was a tiny, scrawny little thing with fleas and big paws, just a pup. Merle bitched about how he was just an ugly mutt and another mouth to feed whenever Daryl started buying puppy chow. Then one day Daryl came home earlier than expected and found Merle out there with two Dixie plates full of rabbit meat, one for him and one for Dog. After that they let go of any pretenses, bathed him, and let him inside. In fact, Daryl still has a picture on his phone from when he caught Merle fast asleep on the couch with Dog curled up on his chest. He couldn’t resist taking it to make fun of him, but to his surprise, Merle grinned and made it his phone background. </p>
<p>Yeah, his big brother ain’t always so bad. He’ll have to call him too and let him know what happened. He ain’t gonna let him know it was the sheriff’s kid, though. The last thing he needs is Merle coming up with some elaborate revenge plot against a twelve year-old.</p>
<p>Thinking of Dog as a puppy is getting him kinda emotional again, so he hastily wipes his eyes. Carol teases him about being a papa bear when it comes to Dog, but damn. That was his only friend for a while. Still the best one he’s ever had. Carol’s a good listener too, but she don’t know when to leave shit alone sometimes.</p>
<p>Before he knows it, the F150 is coming back up the drive and parking, snapping him out of his reminiscing. Rick and Carl approach with his crossbow and the small pack in tow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hershel must have heard them coming, because he steps outside too.</p>
<p>“Thanks, man,” Daryl says, taking the items from the sheriff. </p>
<p>“You sure we can’t take you to your truck too?” Rick asks.</p>
<p>“Was gonna wait for Dog to wake up,” he replies, gesturing at the house. “I’ll call somebody later on.”</p>
<p>“It’ll be several hours before he wakes up,” Hershel says. “His vitals are stable. If you want to bring your truck back here while you’ve got a ride, that should be fine.”</p>
<p>He sighs. The last damn thing he wants to do is get back in the sheriff’s backseat, but he could honestly use a distraction from being alone with his thoughts right now. Plus, he gets the feeling that Rick really, really wants to be doing something useful right now.</p>
<p>He insists on giving the vet his telephone number, telling him to call if anything changes. He’ll only be gone fifteen minutes max, but it makes him feel better.</p>
<p>“If I anticipated a change for the worse, I wouldn’t be suggesting you leave even for a minute. Fresh air will do you good, son,” Hershel replies. But he gets a slip of paper and writes down Daryl’s cell number in case of emergency anyway. </p>
<p>And so, here he is, wedged once again in the backseat of the truck next to the little car seat. Carl offered him shotgun, but he shook his head, wordlessly climbing into the back. This time, he also notices a little stuffed frog abandoned on the back floorboard. Something about it makes him feel sadder, and he looks away and out the open window.</p>
<p>And of course, Rick is bumbling his way through mostly one-sided small talk. </p>
<p>“You from around here?” Rick asks, glancing in the rearview mirror. They’re not even in a patrol car, but something about being in the back and Rick’s mannerisms still makes him feel like he’s being taken in for questioning. Which of course, makes him surly. Hell, maybe it’s just knowing the fact that he’s the sheriff that’s got him on edge.</p>
<p>“Nah.”</p>
<p>“Me neither,” Rick continues, like he asked or something. “I’m from about thirty minutes south of here. I got a job offer about ten years ago that was a step up, so we relocated.”</p>
<p>He makes a noncommittal sound. He still can’t tell if this dude is being nice because he feels bad, or trying to get a read on him. Or hell, if he already has a fucking read on him, which is pretty likely considering the circumstances. Thank Christ he wasn’t around when Merle actually got busted, or this would be even more awkward. In a way, he wants to just scream in Rick’s face, <em>Do you know who the fuck I am or what?<em> because the not knowing is worse. He doesn’t wanna sit back here and chat with this dude’s kid and act like a normal guy if Rick already knows he’s trailer trash. Well, that much is probably pretty fucking obvious anyway, but if Rick knows his brother was at the center of the biggest meth lab in Coweta County – hell, probably the only meth lab in Coweta County – he doesn’t want to act otherwise. Ain’t like he was involved, other than as a ride along here and there if Merle needed backup muscle to intimidate folks into paying up. But he wasn’t exactly unaware, either.</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Where are you from?” the kid asks.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He shrugs. “North Georgia mountains.” He’s being intentionally vague, but Carl doesn’t seem to mind.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“That’s so cool! We went to the mountains before to see the leaves change, didn’t we, Dad?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah, we took a family trip to Blue Ridge when Carl was about eight or nine on his fall break. It’s pretty up there. Peaceful.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Nothing about his time spent living in the north Georgia mountains was fucking peaceful, but he grinds his teeth and keeps his mouth shut. Better than telling them that Blue Ridge is a far cry from Appalachia white trash.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“The woods here are nice, but they aren’t as pretty as they were up there,” Carl adds.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>That, he can agree with. The woods were the only place he ever felt even close to calm. He nods. “Yeah, ‘s nice woods up there.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>His minimal contribution seems to have spurred Rick onward into making more conversation. “Wish I got more vacation time, I’d like to take Carl up there again some day. Or maybe to Tybee Island or something. You ever been there?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Nah. Never been out that way,” he says. What he doesn’t say is, he’s never taken a fucking vacation. He also has never held a steady job to take a vacation from until he started working at the shop. He’s worked odd jobs here and there, but he and Merle had never stayed in one place for too long. After Merle got locked up, he figured he’d better find something since there wasn’t any more drug money coming in. To his surprise, he’s ended up really liking working at the garage. It’s owned by a brother and sister who are good people. They’ve been kind to him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Dad, why can’t we take Judith to Tybee Island too? She’s never been,” says Carl. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>There’s an uncomfortable silence in the truck that even his dense ass can pick up on. Rick sighs loudly through his nose. “We’ve talked about this, Carl.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I know, but-“</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rick cuts in. “It’s not a good time to discuss this. We have company. We’ll talk about it later.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Daryl almost snorts out a laugh at being referred to so formally as “company”, but he manages to keep it to a minimal smirk since this clearly is not the time. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rick glances back at him again. “Carl has a younger sister, that’s who he’s talking about. It’s a long story. Sorry.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Carl opens his mouth to cut in again, but a sharp look from Rick and he closes it wordlessly. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>What the hell is the deal with this baby?</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The silence lingers so long and so heavily that for once, it’s Daryl that breaks it. The tense, anguished look on Rick’s face is making him nervous. “I uh, I went to Lake Allatoona a few months ago. Nice fishin’. I’d never been before.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rick looks visibly relieved. “We love Lake Allatoona. We’ve fished there too. Carl caught the biggest fish last time.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Usually just fish in ponds, but it was pretty cool. How big was your catch?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Grinning, Carl holds out his hands in estimate. Daryl thinks he has to be exaggerating, but he whistles appreciatively anyway. “That’s a hell of a fish.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rick finally seems to be relaxing again. “He was a real pro.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Must be something about that lake, man. Sophia caught the biggest one too, but I had to bait her hook since she wouldn’t touch no worms, so I told her I get partial credit.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“You have a daughter?” Rick asks.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Daryl feels his ears get hot. “Hell no. Went with my neighbor, it’s her daughter.” The thought of him being someone’s dad is enough to make him carsick. He also never knows how to refer to Carol. ‘Friend’ feels foreign on his tongue. He settled for neighbor, because she technically is. She’s living in Dale’s RV parked next to his cabin. They’re closer than most neighbors, though.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Is it Sophia Peletier?” Carl asks.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>This is a small goddamn town. “Yeah, you know her?” he asks.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Carl nods. “She’s in my class at school. She’s real quiet, but she’s nice.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah, she’s a great kid. Smart, too.” He would normal give a boy in Sophia’s class a mild shakedown about being a gentleman, but with his sheriff dad right there, it doesn’t really seem like the best idea. Besides, this kid actually does seem pretty decent. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“She never raises her hand, but she always has the highest grades.” Carl says. “I think she just doesn’t want to show off.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He grins. “She’s smarter than me. She got me to help her do some solar system thing ‘bout a month ago, and she knew all kinda stuff about it. Didn’t even need to look at the book. I never even heard of some of them planets.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“You helped her? Carl asked. “Hers was the best in the class.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Well, she did most of the work. I just did the sawing and put shit where she told me too, then she painted it.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rick shoots him a look that can only be described as appreciative, and he feels his blush spreading from his ears to his neck. “Her mom had to work, and they didn’t have tools for that stuff anyway,” he hastily adds.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I remember Carl saying Sophia’s put our Styrofoam model to shame,” says Rick.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They pull up to the lot where Daryl parked his truck in what now feels like another lifetime instead of just this morning.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Well, thanks for the ride, y’all,” he says, hopping out of the truck. To his surprise, Rick gets out as well, shutting the door and walking over to him. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Hey, man,” he says. “I don’t know how much you know about Sophia’s dad…”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I know enough,” he retorts, wondering where the hell this is about to go.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Well,” Rick says, “I’m not a gossip or nothing, but it’s a small town. I’ve watched Sophia grow up. She’s been in Carl’s class since kindergarten, and I work in law enforcement. Can’t begin tell you how many times we’ve been called out to that house. It’s always bothered me. I just wanted to say I’m glad that Sophia has you around now.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I’m not her fucking stepdad. It ain’t like that with Carol,” he snaps.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Didn’t say it was,” Rick says quickly. “In any context, I think it’s good that you’re around so she sees men aren’t all like her dad.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Goddamn it if his throat isn’t burning. He scuffs the dirt with his boots, glancing down. Fuck. This has just been the day for this shit, hasn’t it? Because his entire bloodline is exactly like her fucking dad, and that’s the problem. In fact, Ed is probably a little classier than his family, and that’s really saying something. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He takes the squirrels off his belt and tosses them in the truck bed along with his bow and the bag, composing himself before he turns back around, because he is irrationally pissed off at the feelings that stirred up. “Thanks for the ride.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rick nods. “Call me if you need anything.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They shake hands, and he climbs into his truck. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. Carol hasn’t got back to him yet, but it’s getting close to 4:30. Might as well give it one more try.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>She picks up on the second ring.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Hey, Daryl, I was just about to call you back. I just got out to the car, I was at book club.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The lump in his throat gets bigger, and he can’t say anything. He exhales shakily.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Is everything okay?” she asks. He can hear the concern in her voice.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He breaks down.</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! I know there was no Bethyl, but I'm setting up some side plots here. I also feel that Daryl's relationship with Rick (and Hershel) is really important to his character development and beginning to see himself as someone who could potentially be worthy of being with Beth. </p>
<p>Like I said, slow burn. ;)</p>
<p>Open to feedback as usual - this is my first time writing these characters.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. hard way to make an easy living</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Daryl arrives back at the farm, anxious about Dog and vulnerable from talking to Carol.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>an update! i am finally finished with the program to get my master's and specialist degrees (shoutout to that virtual zoom graduation ceremony), which means i will hopefully have more time to write for fun now.</p><p>also: i made a <a href="http://www.wherethepeacheshavethorns.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> for sharing fic updates, if anyone wants to follow. i intend to post whenever i post on here. i won't be following back unless we get to know each other though, because it's a side blog linked to my personal account.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He feels a little calmer after getting off the phone with Carol, as much as he hates to admit it. She has a way of talking him down and making him look at the facts when his head is spinning. </p><p>Heading back to the farm now, he keeps repeating to himself what she said. <em>The bullet is out. He made it through the surgery smoothly. He’s going to wake up. He’s going to be okay.</em></p><p>She and Sophia have been going to a therapist (trying to get him to go too), so of course she also taught him some little deep breathing thing. </p><p>He snapped, “I know how to fuckin’ breathe, woman,” but he was clearly hyperventilating. And damned if the ‘in through the nose, hold, out through the mouth' shit didn’t make a difference.</p><p>She offered to come out there and wait with him, but he doesn’t wanna crowd these folks anymore than he already has, so he told her he’d just call when Dog woke up. His larger motivation for refusing her offer is that he isn’t completely confident he won’t start crying like a little bitch again as soon as he sees her. Over the phone just now is the first time he’s ever cried around her, but she handled it like a champ. However, he really doesn’t want to have a round two of sobbing take place on these people’s doorstep the very day he met them. Doesn’t seem like the best impression. He’s already pissed enough that he cried in the privacy of his own truck as it is. Nothing more pathetic than a grown man crying like he’s a damn kid.</p><p>Speaking of which, he’s coming up on the farm now, and he hastily flips down his visor to see if his eyes are red. They are, and the tear tracks are showing up because his face was so damn dirty. Amazing. He pours what’s left in a stray water bottle onto a rag and scrubs his face.</p><p>He really needs a shower, but that’s gonna have to wait. </p><p>After he parks in the shade of the oak tree in the Greene’s front yard, he roots around in his backseat for a few minutes before emerging victorious with an old t-shirt and pair of spare jeans from the floorboard. He keeps extra jeans in his truck ever since he ripped a pair at work squatting to look under a car, and fucking Aaron kept wolf whistling at his underwear showing for the rest of the day. Merle would shit a brick if knew that Daryl was not only buddies with a gay dude, but that he didn’t clock him for looking at his butt all day. He’s pretty sure the wrinkled t-shirt he finds was Merle’s (it says “I got Litty at Lyle’s Titty Bar”), but he really isn’t in a position to be picky right now. At least it smells mostly neutral. His undershirt is stiff with dried blood and sweat to the point that even he feels fucking gross, and that’s saying something, because he lived in this truck on and off for the past decade. He’s used to being varying degrees of unshowered, but this is just plain unpleasant. </p><p>He doesn’t want to risk changing out by his truck or anywhere outside, as much as he would love to hose off, so he makes his way to the front door, clothes in tow. </p><p>He knocks awkwardly, clean clothes in hand. Beth answers quick enough that he suspects she heard him drive up. </p><p>“How’s Dog?” he asks. </p><p>She smiles. “He’s real good. Daddy’s in there now. His heart rate and blood pressure have been stable this whole time. I bet he’ll wake up before long.”</p><p>He feels like a cement truck just rolled off his chest. <em>Thank Christ.</em> He sags with relief. “Can I see him?”</p><p>She pauses. “Daddy usually waits until they’re closer to waking up to let people back there. It can be kinda weird to see them asleep like that. It’s like they’re in a coma kind of since you can’t wake them up.”</p><p>The thought of Dog unable to wake up does seem mighty scary. </p><p>“Can I change in your bathroom?” he blurts out. <em>So much for smooth transitions, Dixon. Goddamn. </em></p><p>To her credit, Beth doesn’t seem bothered. In fact, she brightens, like it’s just making her damn day to do him yet another favor. “Of course!” she backs away to let him enter. “It’s right down the hall here. Let me make sure there’s fresh towels in there.”</p><p>“I don’t gotta use your shower, I just wanted to get out of these clothes,” he says. “I don’t wanna put you out anymore than I already have. I just didn’t feel right about stripping down in your yard neither.”</p><p>She blushes. Damn, he didn’t mean it like that. He meant his back, but she has no way of knowing that. </p><p>“I insist,” she replies. “A shower always makes me feel better.” She sets out a clean towel and an unused bar of soap still in its individual box from the cabinet for him. “Just let me know if you need anything else!”</p><p>She ducks out of the bathroom before he can even thank her. These damn people are way too nice. It’s unsettling. This is worse than when Carol first starting staying with him, trying to cook all the damn time like some kinda June Cleaver.  </p><p>She’s right though. The shower does help. The amount of dirt and dried blood that washes off of him was more than he realized it would be. Something about a hot shower just relaxes his muscles.</p><p>He emerges from the bathroom feeling a hell of a lot cleaner and a little less tense than he had. The shirt is actually a too big on him, since Merle’s taller and somewhat broader than him. He debates tucking it in, but considering what it says, he decides that would be a ridiculous formality. </p><p>He hears the television playing softly from the living room, so he heads in there to ask what to do with his used towel. He makes eye contact with a crucified Jesus on a cross figurine on the wall about the same time Beth makes eye contact with the well-endowed cartoon lady on his shirt. </p><p>If he could have been the one shot instead, that really would have been preferable to this. Of course they’re religious. A wholesome farmer who tries to make the surgery fucking free and his lemonade-bringing blonde daughter. He can feel his blush spreading on his neck and the tips of ears. He should have just put the dirty undershirt back on. </p><p>He opens his mouth to explain, but she beats him to speaking. </p><p>“Nice shirt,” she says. He thinks he can hear a humorous tone in her voice, but he can’t be sure without looking.</p><p>He makes himself glance at her. How did he not notice this whole time she’s wearing a tiny gold cross necklace? She does look as kind as ever, but he thinks that’s just her fucking face, honestly. He can’t imagine her turning her nose up at anyone. </p><p>“It’s, uh, it’s my brother's. It’s the only one I could find in my truck. I probably shoulda wore it inside out or something.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” she says cheerfully. “I was guessing it wasn’t yours.”</p><p>“How come?”</p><p>“Well, for one thing, it doesn’t fit you. And also, you’re blushing way too much right now to be the kinda guy that would buy that shirt.”</p><p>That just makes him blush more, and she has the audacity to giggle. Jesus Christ. No one has ever giggled at him before except for Sophia. He didn’t think he was even the kind of person that people giggled at. </p><p>He narrows his eyes and tries to glare at her, but she just starts laughing harder. He feels his lip twitch. “Maybe I lost some weight or something, used to be fat,” he says. </p><p>She lets out a fresh cackle and wipes theatrically at her eyes like he’s just the funniest son of a bitch she’s ever met. He feels something bubble up in his stomach. He’s definitely smirking back at her now. Shit, he feels like a little kid. He ducks his head to hide his tiny grin. </p><p>“Have you been to Lyle’s Titty Bar, Daryl?” she asks.</p><p>Just hearing her say the word ‘titty’ feels really strange, and it isn’t helping his blush. “Nah. Well, not of my own accord.” He says. “My brother drug me there before, but it was mostly to be the DD.”</p><p>“Did you have fun?” she asks, wide eyes as innocent as ever.</p><p>Why in the <em>fuck</em> is she asking this? How does he even answer? The truth is no, he didn’t have fucking fun. It was awkward as hell. But he can just hear Merle in his head telling him if he says no, she’ll think he’s a queer. He feels like a girl like this might actually get it, though.</p><p>“Uh. Not really,” he admits. </p><p>Her eyes glisten, and she glances around like she’s checking for her dad to tell a secret before stepping closer to him. “Is it the place in Macon with all the billboards on I75?”</p><p>He nods. </p><p>“My brother went there when I was in high school. I had just started driving, and I had to go get him because he was too drunk.”</p><p>He feels his eyes practically bug out of his head. That place is sketchy as hell. A girl like Beth has no business there, even just to pick someone up. The men there (the men like Merle) grope on to everyone who walks past them, they’re so fucked up. The thought of a younger, teenage Beth there is nervewracking. “You didn’t go in, did you?” he asks, hating the way his tone sounds raspier, betraying his concern.</p><p>She shakes her head. “No, I stayed in the car. One of his friends got a girl pregnant and they were having a bachelor party for him before he married her. The other guys weren’t ready to leave yet, but my brother drank too much and was ready to come home. He was waiting outside for me. He said he didn’t have fun either.”</p><p>“Good,” he snaps before he can even censor himself. “Girl like you don’t need to be going in there.”</p><p>“What do you mean, a girl like me?” she asks.</p><p>He glances pointedly at the Jesus nailed to the cross on the wall over her shoulder. “You damn well know what I mean. Men like that would have a field day out of a nice, clean-cut girl walking up in there. It’s dangerous.”</p><p>“Maybe a guy like you shouldn’t be there either, then.”</p><p>He snorts. “Trust me, I fit right in,” he says, gesturing vaguely at himself.</p><p>“You said you didn’t have fun, though,” she presses.</p><p>“I didn’t,” he says. “Wasn’t fun; it was awkward.” What he doesn’t tell her is that Merle bought him a private lap dance to ‘loosen him up a little’, and he tipped the girl forty dollars to tell his brother and his buddies she sucked his dick. The relief on the girl's face when he said he didn't want to do anything made him feel hollow. She tried not to take the money, but he insisted. She took her heels off and rubbed her feet and made small talk with him. She didn’t even ask if he was gay or make him feel weird for refusing. She actually seemed really damn sweet, and young under all that makeup. Before they went back out there, before she slipped her flirtatious mask back on, she hugged him briefly, and it actually may be the only genuine hug he’s had from someone other than his ma. He waited in the car after that, but he can’t tell her any of that.  </p><p>“See?” Beth says. “Shawn didn’t have fun either. And he was the best man I knew, other than my dad.” She steps closer to him. “You didn’t fit in. Not what’s in here.” She taps him on the chest where his heart is. He tenses up, hoping it ain’t noticeable.  </p><p>He shifts awkwardly, glancing around the room. Finally he says, “well, I don’t think your dad is going to give a shit about what’s in there when he reads my shirt.”</p><p>“I’ll tell him that it’s your brother's and you’re already embarrassed, so to leave you alone,” she says. She raises her chin and gets a glint in her eyes that can only be described as protective. He’s starting to see a side of her that maybe isn’t quite as easygoing as he initially perceived. He bets she can be a hell of a fighter if she needs to be. Just don’t make sense why she would give a fuck if her dad messes with him about his crude shirt in their Christian home. Maybe because he’s had such a shitty day with Dog, she figures he doesn’t need any more stress.</p><p>“Uh, thanks,” he says. “I’m gonna take my dirty clothes out to my truck. Where do you want my towel I used?” </p><p>“Oh, I’ll put it in the laundry for ya,” she says.</p><p>“Thanks for letting me shower,” he says, already turning to head out.</p><p>“Daryl?” she says. He turns back to glance at her.</p><p>“You can wait inside. If you want.”</p><p>He nods. “Alright.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading 🌻💛 i am, as always, picking myself apart and comparing myself to all the ridiculous talent on here. please let me know what you think!</p><p>this is not at ALL the bethyl scene i sat down intending to write; it just poured out of me like an out of body experience. i am writing beth with her grady-era confidence, age, and strength. they may seem like they have some type of connection pretty quickly, but this will still be a slow burn romantically. </p><p>i'm really worried that my beth/daryl interactions feel forced, to this extent that i almost rewrote this to have beth less forward and intense. i honestly just view her as a very open and warm person, though. this chapter was actually supposed to have hershel in it too. however, these two have a mind of their own, and it felt complete without it. </p><p>i know that this "day" is being drug out, but so much is happening and so much foundation is being laid for what's to come with multiple new relationships for daryl that i don't want to rush it; i hope it isn't boring. chapter 5 is going to wrap up this "day" in the story, and we will start moving forward with plot. :-)</p><p>total side note: how long are chapters supposed to be?! are mine too short?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. spaghetti saturdays</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>[not pictured: Beth dabbing the spaghetti stain off Daryl's shirt with oxyclean and a napkin while he scowls at her]</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he comes back inside, Hershel has stepped out of the kitchen, and Beth is nowhere to be seen, presumably putting his towel in the laundry room. Hershel’s eyes shoot immediately to his shirt and bug out of his head a little. His cheeks color almost imperceptibly, and he clears his throat. </p><p>“It’s my brother’s—“ Daryl begins.</p><p>Hershel redirects his eyes from the large-breasted woman and the bold proclamation of getting Litty at Lyle’s Titty Bar, looking back at Daryl’s face.</p><p>“Bethy told me the shirt isn’t yours. She also told me not mess with you about it,” he says. “I don’t approve of such a vulgar, disrespectful shirt. I have two daughters.” He pauses. “However, since it isn’t yours, I’ll let it slide. Besides, you’re not having a very good day, are you?”</p><p>He really fucking isn’t. This may be the worst day of his life, and that’s really saying something, because his whole life has been a string of a new worst days sprinkled in about twice a month. He just shakes his head, not trusting his voice. </p><p>“Rick Grimes called,” Hershel continues. “He says you’re close with the Peletiers.”</p><p>Daryl marvels yet again at the size of this town. He feels like he’s on the goddamn Andy Griffith Show. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if Rick’s partner was actually Barney Fife. </p><p>“Yeah, uh. Guess so. They’re my neighbors.”</p><p>“Rick made it sound like a bit more than that. He says you help Sophia with school projects and take her fishing.”</p><p>That just makes him sound like a damn weirdo. Rick’s probably checking the pedophile registry at the station right now to make sure he’s not the type to fucking creep on little girls, shit. Or like Carol’s a deadbeat and he’s filling in for her, which pisses him off even worse. He squares his shoulders. “I help out from time to time, especially if Carol works late. She’s a good mom, she does most everything. She just needs backup sometimes.”</p><p>“I don’t doubt that she’s a good mother. I’m glad she and Sophia have a man’s help when it’s needed after all they’ve been through. Not that Carol isn’t capable.”</p><p>“It ain’t like that. We ain’t like that. We’re just-“ he starts to say neighbors again, but Hershel interjects. </p><p>“Friends?” he offers.</p><p>Daryl clears his throat. “Yeah, I guess. Friends.”</p><p>“That’s even more valuable, especially after what Carol has been through. Only a good man would help without expecting anything in return.”</p><p>Daryl’s brain bounces around the ‘good man’ bit for a minute like a pinball before deciding that’s too much for right now, and it settles on the end of Hershel’s statement. “It ain’t like that either. They ain’t a charity case. She’s—I dunno, she’s there for me. She helps me too.”</p><p>Hershel looks thoughtful for a moment, gazing at the cross on the wall, before turning to make eye contact. His gaze is piercing and sincere. “I think I owe you an apology.”</p><p>Daryl’s first thought is that something went wrong with Dog. “He okay? Did something happen?” </p><p>“No, no. Everything’s fine. Not that. I owe you an apology because I made an initial judgment of what kind of man you are when I first saw you that I am beginning to see is incorrect. That wasn’t Christian of me.”</p><p>What Daryl wants to say is, <em>your initial judgment was probably spot on</em>. It’s truly beyond him that this old man is standing here apologizing for judging him as he wears a t-shirt about getting drunk at a strip joint in his house. Which yes, he technically was there drinking, but he was mainly buzzed, and not participating in the manner the shirt and its well-endowed cartoon lady suggests. But still, damn. He truly doesn’t know what the hell to say. No one has ever given their judgment of him a second thought, much less acknowledged it and apologized. In fact, he doesn’t think anyone has ever apologized to him for anything, except Carol. His mouth opens, but no words come out.</p><p>Hershel seems to take his speechlessness as a sign to continue. “Rick spoke very highly of you on the phone just now, and my daughter has a positive impression of you as well. It looks like I need to reexamine my prejudices.”</p><p>Daryl finds his voice finally, but it sounds scratchy. “Uh, nah. ‘s fine. I’m probably ‘bout as white trash as you first thought.”</p><p>Hershel shakes his head. “A man can’t help where his roots are planted, but he can determine which way he grows.”</p><p>Shit. That was deep. It sounds like the kind of stuff Carol’s been spewing at him for the better part of a year. And damned if hearing it from a man he would define in every sense of the word as ‘good’, as better than him, doesn’t stir something in his chest.</p><p>“I should know that better than anyone,” Hershel continues. “My father was a lot like Sophia’s.”</p><p>That gets his attention. He snaps his gaze up from his scuffed up boots up at Hershel’s face. “For real?”</p><p>“Yes, he was a mean, aggressive old drunk. It took me a long time to repair the damage he caused.”</p><p>Daryl gnaws on his thumbnail. A part of him feels like the little boy he used to be, the boy who relished when teachers used to check on him when he put his head down, or offer him a pack of chips to take home from school. Of course, that shit stopped around the time he got old enough for the perception of him to shift from ‘the kid with the dead mom’ to ‘the troublemaker.’ Around nine, probably. But somehow in his fuckin’ thirties he feels that way again. He bites his tongue, because he wants to ask Hershel, <em>how did you do it? How’d you fix it?</em></p><p>He can’t say it. He can’t say to Hershel, <em>me too. Mine too. </em>But somehow, with the way Hershel’s looking at him right now, he feels like he already knows. Like he can just crack open his chest and peer inside him.<em> Jesus Christ.</em> What the hell is wrong with these people? There’s no way anyone can be this fucking open, this fucking nice. It’s making his skin crawl. And even more so, he’s pissed at himself that it’s getting to him a little. </p><p>He knows the man he was a year ago would have yelled, would have sneered, would have said <em>you don’t know shit about me, old man. </em>He doesn’t know why he’s frozen right now, except he does. He thinks of Carol’s gentle hands, practicing touching him on the shoulder, on the arm, in casual ways more and more until he stops flinching when she does it. He thinks of the time almost a year ago now that he screamed at Carol until she cried, called her a bitch, blamed her for being a victim.<em> You wanna make this about my daddy or somethin’? </em>How she didn’t yell back, but she didn’t exactly take it, either. She understood that it wasn’t about her. She never asked or pressed him to explain, just gave him that look she has, almost the way she looks at Sophia, but it feels good so he can’t bring himself to feel patronized anymore. </p><p>He hears Carol in his head, calling him ‘a man of honor’ and ‘decent.’ She’s planted a seed, and it’s grown, not taller than the others, but high enough that he can reign in his defenses. Especially since he’s kind of relying on this man to keep his dog alive.</p><p>He still hasn’t said anything. Hershel’s eyes are shining with kindness. He moves his hand a little like he wants to clap Daryl on the shoulder. Daryl narrows his eyes and tenses, then Hershel seems to change his mind. Thank God. He changes the subject, which he takes as yet another act of kindness.</p><p>“What’s your schedule like, son?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Daryl asks. </p><p>“I was thinking, if you’re free on the weekends, you can work off the cost of the surgery on my farm if you’d like. Could use an extra set of hands. I’ve been looking to hire someone ever since my older daughter moved to Atlanta, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. It’s hard to find good help these days.”</p><p>He chews his lip and thinks it over for a minute. Finally, he nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”</p><p>He’s really relieved, because selling Merle’s bike was setting him up for a world of trouble down the road. He doesn’t have anything else of value except his truck, and he needs that to get to work. Besides, he tries to set money aside when he can since Carol is saving up for a trailer, even though she told him not to try to help. Dale is letting her live in his RV since the cabin is way too small for roommates, but she doesn’t want to inconvenience him for longer than she has to. Carol’s still too nervous to not live within shouting distance of Daryl, and he doesn’t blame her a bit. Ed may have left town, but he knows that the knowledge that he’s out there somewhere rests around her neck like a noose that could tighten at any moment. </p><p>Luckily, Dale has agreed to let them put a trailer on the property out there. Honestly, he thinks Dale would agree to about anything he requested. Daryl had called him about Carol and Sophia staying for a bit because the lease says that roommates need to be official. When Daryl explained the situation, Dale drove his RV out there that very day in his little bucket hat and hooked it up, insisting the cabin was too small for the three of them. He’s a good dude.</p><p>“Perfect,” Hershel replies cheerfully. “We’ll wait until Dog’s back to normal before you have to get started. I’m sure he’ll want extra time with you. Besides, he may need help going to the bathroom for a few weeks until he can walk again.”</p><p>“So you think he’ll be walkin’ again?” Daryl asks. There comes that hope rising up in him, no matter how much he reminds himself that good things don’t happen to Dixons. </p><p>Hershel says, “I can’t tell you anything for certain just yet, but I’ve treated gunshot wounds in dogs before, and this couldn’t have gone better. You got him here very quickly, and you had the wound properly bandaged to slow the bleeding. The bullet didn’t even fragment, and it didn’t hit any major organs.”</p><p>He exhales a breath bigger than he knew he was holding. “Good. That’s good. Uh, thanks again. For helping him, and for letting me work it off here instead. That’s gonna be a big help.”</p><p>“Of course,” Hershel says. He pulls out a formal silver pocketwatch and glances at the time. “I’m gonna check on him again. Want to come see him?”</p><p>Daryl’s heart jumps, and he nods vigorously. </p><p>“I suspect he’ll be waking up soon,” Hershel continues as he leads the way into the kitchen. “Maybe hearing your voice will do him good.”</p><p>Dog is still on the table, his fur shaved where the bullet went in and on his front paw where the IV is set up. He also has a catheter in. He looks pitiful. Daryl glances apprehensively at Hershel, and he nods in affirmation that Daryl can go closer. Daryl kneels in front of the table so he’s eye level with the mutt. “Hey, buddy,” he whispers. He places a hand tentatively on the scruff of neck, putting an arm around him. He can feel the ghost of Dog’s breath out of his nostrils, and the steady rise and fall of his belly as he breathes fills Daryl with a sense of comfort. He’s breathing. He’s still breathing. Tears fill his eyes again, and he shuts them to keep them from falling over. When he opens his eyes, he is met with Dog’s brown eyes blinking groggily at him. He buries his face in Dog’s fur as his tears leak out, and Dog’s tail thumps once weakly. <em>Thank you, God. Or whoever the fuck.</em></p><p>He hears footsteps, and then Beth’s soft voice. “He’s awake!”</p><p>“He is. I thought hearing Daryl’s voice might help. They seem very in tune to each other,” Hershel replies. </p><p>Daryl takes a moment to attempt to compose himself before raising his head to look at Dog again. He’s clearly groggy as hell, and his eyes are a little cloudy, but he’s comin' to. </p><p>He wipes his eyes and stands back up, praying they can’t hear the way his knees crack from kneeling on the hardwood floor. He’s getting old as shit, and living hard and fast his whole life hasn’t helped none. “Thank you,” he says. He turns to Hershel, embarrassed of the way he knows his eyes are red, but this man deserves his appreciation. He performed a fucking miracle. The only time anything has gone right for him in his fucking life. “Thank you for saving him,” he rasps, hating the way his voice cracks a little. “Both of you.”</p><p>“I’m just glad we were able to,” replies Hershel. “Moments like this are why I became a vet.” </p><p>Beth, to his surprise, doesn’t say anything at all. From what he has learned of her so far, she likes to talk. He glances over at her, and to his surprise, her eyes are glistening too. “Sorry,” she says, wiping her eyes in embarrassment when she sees he’s noticed her getting emotional. “I’m just glad he’s okay.”</p><p>Hershel puts an arm around her and kisses her temple. “Beth would be a wonderful vet, but she thinks she’s too sensitive.” He says to Daryl.</p><p>She smiles ruefully. “Well, I can’t exactly cry with the patients. It’s unprofessional.”</p><p>Daryl clears his throat. “Nah. Shows you care.”</p><p>“Let us get this guy examined,” Hershel says. “I’d like him to stay here overnight if you’re okay with that. You’re welcome to our guest room; I’m guessin’ you’d like to stay close.”</p><p>Daryl gnaws his lower lip. He really, really does want to stay close, but he also doesn’t want to put these folks out any more than he already has. He shakes his head. “I, uh-“</p><p>Beth interrupts before he can continue. “The sheets in the downstairs bedroom next to the bathroom you used are clean. You can take that one.”</p><p>He looks at her in surprise, and she squares her shoulders and stares back. Her wide blue eyes pierce his like she’s just daring him to argue. His skin prickles, and he feels hot. He rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, if y’all insist. Really don’t wanna put you out no more than I have.”</p><p>Hershel looks up from his examination of Dog, his eyes twinkling at his daughter. “Sounds like it’s settled.”</p><p>He snorts. For a sweet girl, she’s a bossy little thing. “Guess so,” he replies.</p>
<hr/><p>Dinner with the Greenes is an awkward affair. Daryl is fucking starving, having only had the egg sandwich and coffee early that morning. They move Dog from the table to a crate in the living room that Hershel says will keep him from trying to get up if he wakes. He’s still pretty groggy.</p><p>Hershel and Beth make most of the supper conversation, with Daryl nodding and grunting in response to direct questions. He becomes aware of his lack of home training regarding table manners about halfway through the meal when he sees Beth is not so subtly watching him eat with the corners of lips quirked up like she’s trying not to smile.</p><p>“Whah?” he grumbles, mouth full of spaghetti. </p><p>“Nothin’,” she replies in a singsong voice. “Just glad you’re enjoyin’ my cookin’, that’s all.”</p><p>He flushes probably about as red as the tomato sauce, stopping mid-shoveling toward his mouth. He swallows and wipes his mouth with his napkin that had remained unused so far. “Ain’t had much to eat today,” he says. </p><p>“Your friend has a stain on her,” replies Beth, grinning much in the way Sophia does when she’s getting unadulterated joy in fucking with him about something. </p><p>He narrows his eyes at her. “What <em>friend</em>?” he asks. </p><p>She gestures at his shirt, barely concealing a laugh. He looks down. Sure enough, the lady on his shirt has a spaghetti stain on her left titty. </p><p>Feeling his flush spread to the back of the neck, he rolls his eyes at her. “Too bad for Merle, then huh? Guess he shouldn’t leave his crap in my truck no more.”</p><p>“We’ll have to have you for supper more often,” Hershel remarks. “Not that I don’t love to hear Beth talk, but it’s nice that she has someone else here for her to pick on some. She’s my youngest. You know what they say about youngest siblings.” </p><p>Beth smiles sweetly. “Daddy, I’m just letting him know before the stain dries. You know spaghetti stains white clothes.” </p><p>Daryl snorts. “Yeah, thanks a lot. Sure don’t wanna ruin this shirt.”</p><p>“Is Merle older or younger than you, Daryl?” asks Hershel.</p><p>“Older. He’s definitely the annoyin’ one though,” he replies, gesturing at his shirt. </p><p>Beth nods. “Maggie is more annoying than me too. Shawn was pretty aggravating. Honestly, I’m the sweet one.”</p><p>He figures Beth’s older brother must have died too from how she talks about him in past tense. And the sister moved away, damn. Must be weird for her. Shawn sounds a hell of a lot nicer than Merle, and Daryl doesn’t even like to think about shit happening to him. </p><p>Hershel pretends to look alarmed at Beth and choke on a meatball, making her giggle. He then wipes spaghetti out of his white beard. ”You can be the sweetest one and the most aggravating one at the same time, sweetheart.” He glances over at Daryl. “When you start working on the farm, maybe we can have spaghetti Tuesday every Saturday since Beth enjoys watching you eat it so much.”</p><p>This time, Beth blushes, and Daryl actually does choke on a meatball. He clears his throat. “Uh, think the whole point of me working here is to pay off the vet bill, not rack up a food bill.”</p><p>“We can’t let you work on an empty stomach,” replies Hershel. “Besides, you’re doing us a favor too. We have a farmhand named Otis, but he hurt his back a few weeks ago. We’ve been a little behind on work. I was actually getting desperate enough to think about calling Jimmy to come out next weekend.”</p><p>“Dad!” exclaims Beth. “You are not calling Jimmy. We talked about that.”  </p><p>“Well, thank Daryl then, because now we don’t have to worry about whether to call him.”</p><p>“Who’s Jimmy?” asks Daryl, mid-mouthful again. Damn. He’s really gotta work on that.</p><p>This time, Beth seems too irritated to notice his manners. “<em>Jimmy</em> is my ex-boyfriend from high school.” She rolls her eyes. “We broke up when I turned eighteen, and Daddy had more trouble moving on than I did.”</p><p>“He was a nice young man,” objects Hershel.</p><p>“He can be a nice young man somewhere other than our farm,” says Beth. “It’s been years. I already have to see him at church.”</p><p>The thought of a nice young man having dinner with Beth and Hershel, probably with a goddamn napkin in his lap wearing a button-down makes him real fuckin’ out of place. Not that he’s courting her or some shit, but still. He ain’t nice <em>or</em> young. Not what they must be used to socializing with. </p><p>“It’s settled now anyway. Spaghetti Saturdays with Daryl,” says Hershel.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i'm finally back! i had most of this written this whole time, but i've been battling carpal tunnel so finishing it up was no easy task. this will finally wrap up this crazy day, and the next chapter will get the plot rolling forward.</p><p>just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has read, commented, left kudos, subscribed, and reassured. y'all are making me think i can actually finish this thing for real! as always, i am open to feedback and constructive criticism.</p><p>now if you'll excuse me, i'm gonna go ice my hands.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. boys don't cry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Daryl processes some of his feelings, but not others.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it's been a while, sorry guys! the month of June has been nothing like i expected - had my job offer rescinded due to covid, got diagnosed with a chronic illness, started treatment for said illness - but i am hanging in there and trying to get back to normal. (or, finding a new normal at least.)</p><p> i still know where this is going and am so excited to start getting into the real meat of this story. i hope it isn't too slow for y'all, but stuff &amp; thangs will be happening again soon.</p><p>title is a song by the cure.</p><p>TW for descriptions of past child abuse in this chapter, read with care 💛</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was right. He does cry like a little bitch again as soon as he sees Carol.</p><p>Like, he fuckin’ cries shoulder-wracking sobs that make horrible little sounds and puts his forehead on her shoulder and gets snot on her shirt.</p><p>And Daryl’s not a crier. He hasn’t cried in front of another living human since his mom died. He was in the second grade, but he isn’t sure if it was the first or second time. He didn’t cry when he pulled up on his bicycle and saw the house on fire. He didn’t cry while he watched firefighters put out the flames and remove what he now understands were the charred remains of her body. When something bad happens, he’s always just frozen in place, retreated in on himself, watched like it’s happening to somebody else. He responds to trauma like a deer when they see a truck coming and don't know which way to go, so they do nothing. It’s easier than feelin’ it and accepting that it's happening to him. When the flames were out and the firefighters were gone, he was in a musty sleeping bag borrowed from a neighbor on what was left of the trailer floor. Because his dad didn’t have fucking friends, didn’t even speak to his own family, so they didn’t have anywhere else to stay. God forbid he get a damn motel room for the night, so nope, they slept on the fucking burnt up floor of the kitchen, the only room that was still safe enough to walk in since it was on the opposite end of the house. Merle left as soon as they removed the body, not to be seen again for three weeks, a new record for him. So it was just him and his pop when he began to cry. That night he got the worse ass beating of his goddamn life with a charred up board that still had warped nails sticking out of it. The nails shredded the back of his shirt, the only one he had at the time thanks to the fire decimating the closet-sized room he slept in with Merle, where they kept their meager belongings. He still can tell which scars are from those damn nails, because they got a bitch of an infection later. After a while, his dad left for boozing and whoring, and he slept face down with just his head on the sleeping bag since he didn’t want to get blood on it. He tried muffling his tears even though there was no one there left to hear them. After that, he never cried in front of another person again. </p><p>Not until now, with Carol. And the realization of that makes him cry even harder, until he’s choking on thick strings of saliva, and he can’t stop. It’s like he’s crying for everything that’s happened since he was seven years old. Everything he should have cried for but wouldn't, or couldn't.</p><p>Coming so close to losing the first one to ever love him broke something inside him, and he can't stop. He’s embarrassed and tries to pull away, but she simply says “nope,” and holds him tighter.</p><p>Finally he pulls his shit together, and when he does he’s shocked to see as he lets her go that her eyes are shimmering too. </p><p>“I’m so sorry, Daryl,” she says. “So sorry.”</p><p>He’s so caught off guard that he just tilts his head like a dog given a command he’s never heard before but knows he should be performing. Carol’s brow furrows in confusion. “Is he not…?”</p><p>“Shit! Nah, naw. He’s okay. He’s gonna be okay.”</p><p>Carol exhales in relief, and he claps her roughly on the shoulder, his version of comfort. “Damn, sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you out or nothing. I dunno, I just… I dunno. Didn’t realize how much the little shit meant to be until I thought he was gone, I reckon.”</p><p>Carol smiles her closed mouth smile that he loves, like she’s trying not to show too much, but her eyes show it all. “I get it. He’s your baby, like Sophia's mine. Now come on in, let me make you some coffee, and you can tell me everything.” She heads up the steps of her RV, hand reaching for the door handle when she turns around. “By the way, nice shirt, Pookie.”</p><p>She cackles and rushes into the RV as he swats at her halfheartedly with the ball cap from his truck that he’d thrown on over his messy, too-long hair. He didn’t want to use Beth’s fucking hairbrush no matter how sweetly she’d stuck it in on the guest bathroom counter without a word, along with an extra toothbrush, which he’d also left in its packaging. He was not going to take no more charity from the Greene’s, even if it meant he had to chew gum to get rid of his morning breath or look like a birds nest that had been electrocuted.</p><p>Settled in the little nook in the middle of the RV, with its little booth seats and the extra chair to pull up for Daryl on one side, and Carol’s cot on the other (she wants Sophia to have the bedroom to herself), he tells her about the insanity of his past two days. He carefully leaves out any mention of Beth, and he’s not sure why. </p><p>He tells her everything else though, about the Grimes and Hershel, about the surgery, about staying in the guest room all awkward just to make sure Dog was gonna pull through. How he’ll be coming home within the week, and Hershel’s gonna teach him some ways to make it more comfortable for him since he won’t be walking yet. </p><p>He sees the question in her eyes, so he tells her how that fucking sheriff tried to pay for it, and the farmer tried not to charge, but he’ll be helping out with extra work on the weekends at the farm as payment instead. "Better than sellin' Merle's bike to pay. That woulda been a shit storm in a few years."</p><p>“What’d you think of Rick Grimes?” she asks.</p><p>He shrugs. “Fuckin’ cop who busted my brother, what is there to think?”</p><p>“His son is in Sophia’s class, and he’s a nice boy. I think they’re good people. I don’t think he’s anything like Mr. Walsh, anyway. He was just doing his job.”</p><p>Daryl shrugs. “Cops a cop,” he grunts, even though deep down he thinks she’s right, that Rick seems like one of those guys who genuinely just doesn’t want more locals getting hooked on meth.</p><p>“You don’t think he’s handsome?” Carol asks, too innocently, stirring her coffee even though he knows damn well the sugar is evaporated by now. </p><p>He rolls his eyes and snorts, and she winks at him in return. It is a joy in Carol’s life to try to figure out his type. He knows this. </p><p>She tried to suggest they fool around a few months after they’d settled into the comfort of their friendship, half-joking. He’d huffed and blushed and rolled his eyes, trying to hide his panic. She was asking for the one thing he couldn’t give her, and she was going to leave. But she’d changed the topic so effortlessly that he couldn’t even tell if she really wanted to hook up 
or if she was just teasing him. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t ask his opinion now and then on men and women alike, just to see him squirm.</p><p>People who had a lot of sex was like people who had a lot of money to him. Another world that he had dabbled in but didn’t understand to the extent he thought he should. Sure, he’d fucked women here and there during his wilder days out with Merle. Just like he and Merle had their moments in life where they’d been “high on the hog” as Merle called it, buying steaks for a few weeks instead of ramen, splurging on nicer liquor, but they always blown through any windfall of cash they stumbled upon quickly and went right back to rice and beans and eviction notices. Just like he’d woken up after hookups feeling empty inside, as if he’d acted the part of someone else and now it was gone, taking a piece of him with it.</p><p>Carol’s still staring at him, and he sighs, knowing she actually expects a response. He shrugs again. “He ain’t ugly or nothing. Seemed to be in good shape. Why, you trying to go after him?”</p><p>Carol laughs. “I wouldn’t send him away. He’s not my usual type, though.”</p><p>“Your usual type is nothin’ but trouble, woman.”</p><p>“Don’t I know it?”</p><p>He stands up, going to the sink two steps away to hand wash his coffee cup.  “I ain’t babysitting for you to do the nasty with a cop.”</p><p>“Okay, that’s it. Time for you to go home,” she laughs. “I’ve had enough togetherness.” </p><p>She still hugs him goodbye and kisses his forehead, though. “I’m glad he’s gonna be okay, Daryl. It looks like you got spaghetti or something on that shirt though. Want me to try to get the stain out for you?”</p><p>He flips her off over his shoulder as his walks toward his cabin.</p>
<hr/><p>He goes over to his place intending to shower, but instead he just sits down on the couch, relishing in finally being alone. </p><p>Spending the night at the Greene’s farmhouse, while appreciated because he didn’t want to leave Dog just yet, was fucking weird. Being Merle Dixon’s little brother, he’s used to waking up in strange places. That ain’t what’s strange. What’s weird is waking up to soft sunlight streaming in through the windows, the smell of fresh linens, lying on a mattress that feels expensive as hell (his back doesn’t even hurt this morning), and the smell of coffee and bacon. Because of course, Beth was up brewing coffee and frying bacon. Figures.</p><p>Throughout his life, Daryl has woken up in many strange places: buddies of Merle’s, “associates” of Merle’s, complete strangers. A beat up couch or a mattress on a basement floor in a crack house is really more Dixon style, however.</p><p>He’s also used to having Merle there to chatter through the awkwardness in the morning if the home’s occupants aren’t too stoned to notice them leaving. His brother is the only druggie he knows who's a morning person.</p><p>Damn, he thought it’d be a cold day in hell before he ever missed Merle’s big ass mouth again, but here he is.</p><p>He’d uncomfortably munched his bacon and sipped his coffee, wondering how the hell this was someone’s real life. Hershel seemed very pleased with Dog’s morning checkup. He figured that Dog was out of the woods now. However, he said that he didn’t need to be moved around too much just yet, because a fall could be dangerous for him. So Daryl said his goodbyes to him, trying to stay stoic, and headed home. As grateful as he was to the Greenes, he couldn’t relax his shoulders until he pulled off onto the dirt road toward his cabin. Being around people that nice made his skin crawl. At least assholes were showing you upfront what they were about. It’s the nice folks you have to watch out for.</p><p>(Although, he really didn’t think that any part of Beth or Hershel were assholes. They reminded him of a lot of assholes in disguise he'd known, hypocritical Jesus freaks who'd spit on him given the chance. But they didn't seem too judgy. Christians, sure. A little annoying, yeah. Hershel could probably be sanctimonious. But they seemed decent where it counts.)</p><p>Before he knew it, he’d fallen asleep on the couch. He woke up disoriented by the light hitting different, and thinking it was time to feed Dog. Then an empty feeling came over him seeing his food and water dishes alone on the ground, like grief but bittersweet. It was like life was showing him how close he was to slipping back into his old, meaningless existence; how close he was to losing everything.</p><p>He pulls out his phone, puts it back down, then pulls it out again. Beth had given him her number before he left that morning, explaining that Hershel was terrible about leaving his phone at the house on the charger. She said that he’d have a better time reaching her, and she could get her daddy for him if he needed anything. He had never had a girl try to give him her number and actually saved it. He knew she hadn’t meant it in the way that girls looking for an in with Merle and his drugs did, but it was still really weird. </p><p>It doesn’t take long to get to Beth’s name in his contact list. In fact, he doesn’t even have to scroll. It’s right there between Aaron and Carol; he only has like eight names saved in total. He presses call, then realizes young folks would probably rather text. He frantically hangs up in the middle of the second ring. He’s made his way to messages and is halfway through typing “how is dog doin,” cursing the size of his thumbs, when an incoming call from Beth Greene pops up on his screen.</p><p>Damn it. So much for not coming off as weird.</p><p>He waits a few seconds and then picks up.</p><p>“Hey, Daryl!” Her cheery voice is so loud he has to hold the phone away from his ear an inch. Shit. Does she think he’s that old that he’s fuckin’ deaf already? “Sorry I missed your call! It didn’t ring very long, I must be gettin’ bad reception out here.”</p><p>He’s not about to tell her that he started to call and chickened out, so he doesn’t say anything. After a beat, she continues on. “Anyways, I figured you were calling to check on Dog! Do you want to FaceTime?”</p><p>This fucking girl, man. He’s only FaceTimed somebody once in his whole life, and that was when Sophia was at a sleepover and playing on her little friend’s iPad. The girls had really gotten a field day out of trying to teach him how it worked. In fact, he's only had a phone that <em>could</em> FaceTime for a year. He'd gone with Carol to get herself phone right after she left Ed, and they quickly realized it'd be cheaper to join phone plans. There was a buy one get one half off special on iPhones, and here he is. Texting with emojis and shit.</p><p>“You ain’t gotta do video. I know what he looks like.”</p><p>“I don’t mind!” she replies. “He’d probably love to say goodnight. Let me just get back on up to the house.” There’s a rustling noise, and then her voice is suddenly softer and sounds closer. “There we go! Sorry about that, I had you on speaker in my front pocket. I was carrying some eggs up here.”</p><p>Oh. So apparently she doesn’t think he’s a deaf old man, after all.</p><p>“You didn’t have to call back so damn fast.”</p><p>“It’s no problem! I was just finishing up with the chickens anyway.”</p><p>“How’s he doing?”</p><p>“Oh, he’s great! Here he is! Hey, Dog, your daddy’s checking on you! Let me do the video call.”</p><p>Before he can protest again, he hears the little FaceTime noise and accepts it. Despite expecting it, he’s still a little alarmed at Beth Greene’s bright, smiling face filling up his screen. Does she always look so happy? </p><p>“Oops, did you just wake up?” she asks.</p><p>He makes a noncommittal noise. “Why'd you ask?”</p><p>“You just look a little sleepy. Whenever you first woke up today you had this look on your face, and you’ve got it again.”</p><p>“The hell kinda look you mean?”</p><p>“That one,” she laughs. “Like you’re grumpy, and you smell something bad.”</p><p>This makes him look even grumpier, and she laughs again. </p><p>“I mighta took a little nap,” he grumbles. “Had a shitty weekend.”</p><p>“I know you did,” she says. “But here, look.” She flips the camera around to show him Dog, who is sitting up some in his little pen with bright eyes. “He’s feeling a little better tonight!”</p><p>Seeing Dog can’t help but put a smile on Daryl’s face. “Hey, buddy! He does look a little better, don’t he?”</p><p>“Yeah, he does. He was able to eat a little dinner tonight too. Daddy thinks he’ll be ready to go home by the middle of the week. It’s sooner than he expected, but he’s bouncing back pretty well.”</p><p>“Good. Hey, uh, thanks for looking after him for me.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s no problem! We’re having a lot of fun, aren’t we Dog?” Beth flips the camera back to herself. “He wagged his tail when I showed you to him. I told you he’d want to FaceTime with his dad.”</p><p>“Probably a coincidence,” replies Daryl, though he’s secretly pleased. </p><p>“I’ll let you get back to your nap now, Sleepy Head!” 
</p>
<p>
"Alright, well thanks for calling me."
</p>
<p>

Beth waves and hangs up, leaving Daryl feeling as if a tornado has just swept through, leaving him dazed and knocked flat on his ass.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for hanging in there 💛 let me know if anyone is still reading this after a month! and thank you so much for all the kind words so far; they mean more than you know!</p><p>let me know what y'all think about the daryl/carol. their friendship reminds me so much of a friendship i had in high school and college with another shy, sad boi (until my abusive ex ruined it hahaaha story for another day)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. if drinkin' don't kill me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Empty nest syndrome is getting real.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chapter title is a song by george jones</p><p>thanks for sticking with me guys!! all those comments on the last chapter warmed my heart! 💛  (promise i will finish responding to comments. i have somewhat limited cognitive ability on this new medication, so i used what i have to finish and edit this chapter. sorry if there are typos - i did my best to comb through it.) i love seeing "regular" readers; it makes me so happy! thanks especially for all the well wishes. life has been rough to me lately, so the comments mean more than y'all know!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Being at home without Dog there is just plain weird. There are reminders of him everywhere: his water and food dishes, his toys, his leash. Nighttime especially feels quiet and depressing. It's reminding him of his life before he had Dog or ever met the Peletiers. Back before he had things to live for and was instead simply surviving, floating through the day-to-day with no real joy or connection. Daryl takes on extra shifts as much as he can, working doubles to avoid the emptiness and the silence. Luckily, Beth sends him a picture of Dog (saying “good morning, dad!”) each day, which helps how lonely he feels upon waking to the foot of the bed being cold. He swears up and down to himself that he won’t fuss so much when Dog starts trying to wiggle his way up to sleep next to him.</p><p>The Greenes also invite him to come by every evening after work so he and Dog can see each other. The visits are admittedly a little awkward, mostly on Daryl’s part, but he’s so relieved to see Dog becoming more and more alert each afternoon. The first day he visits, he brings some of Dog’s toys and his favorite blanket to make him more comfortable in his crate. He notices Beth staring at him with these weird ass look on her face when he pulls up with one of Carol’s tote bags full of Dog’s stuff, but he tries to ignore it.  She probably thinks he looks like a fuckin’ sissy mother hen or something, but he figures the cage might be kinda scary to wake up in. Maybe if he sees his blanket and toys he’ll feel more at home and know it’s alright. (The tote bag having one of those girly paisley patterns sure ain’t helping his case, though.)</p><p>He tries to ignore her quiet gaze on him that first evening, her huge blue eyes as unreadable as the tiny smile on her face as she watches him unpack the bag and help Dog get situated.</p><p>Finally, he can’t take it anymore. “Hell’re you lookin’ at?” he grunts.</p><p>Beth’s cheeks tint and her eyes somehow widen a little more. “I- Nothing.”</p><p>He just glares at her from under his bangs, sure she’s internally mocking him. The silence seems to make her more uncomfortable, because after only a few seconds of it she speaks again. “You, I guess. I like watching you with him. It’s sweet.”</p><p>Okay, so maybe she wasn’t making fun of him. Shit. Now he’s the one blushing. “Never heard that one before,” he finally says.</p><p>“Well, Dog probably would agree with me if he could talk,” Beth replies. “He perks up whenever you’re around.”</p><p>“’s because I’m the one that feeds him, that’s all.” He ruffles Dog’s fur, and Dog licks his hand. “See, positive association.”</p><p>“No, it’s more than that. You can see how much he loves you. He looks at you like you’re his person.” Beth smiles. “See? He’s doing it right now!”</p><p>Daryl glances down at Dog, who is indeed staring up at him and thumping his tail, brown eyes so sweet you’d think they would melt. It’s the look that makes his chest feel tight with emotion and brings out the mama bear in him. Makes him into the type of guy who borrows pink tote bags.</p><p>He clears his throat. “Can’t account for taste, I reckon.”</p><p>Beth rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. He’s a smart dog. I don’t see anything wrong with his taste.” At that, she stands up before he can process what she’s said, much less respond. “I’ll let y’all have some bonding time.”</p><p>He’ll think about that comment for the rest of the week.</p>
<hr/><p>On Tuesday night, he’s leaving the farm from his visit when he decides to make a stop before going home. He hasn’t been to a bar in God knows when, at least since around the time Merle was locked up. He’s thinking about how much he hates going home without Dog there when he passes a honky tonk. This ain’t his and Merle’s side of town, so he’s never been there before. It’s definitely still a honky tonk, but it looks a few degrees nicer than he’s used to, although that isn’t saying much. He drives past it, thinks ‘what the hell’, and u-turns to pull into the parking lot. </p><p>Merle was always the type to rush right in, never one to miss a fight or a girl or a round of shots. Daryl always hung back with the excuse of smoking a cigarette first, but what he really wanted was to scope the place out. He likes to know what he’s getting into before going anywhere or trying anything new. Back in the day, he wouldn’t even try a drug without watching Merle do it first to see what happened. Merle always called him a pussy for that, but he just doesn’t like surprises. The only surprise he’s ever had was the trailer catching on fire, and that sure as shit didn’t go well.</p><p>So he hangs back in his truck, smoking with the windows down. He watches a farmer type dude arrive in a pickup and mosey in. The cars in the lot are mostly trucks. It looks to be a country music tractor riding type of place, which ain’t exactly his thing. His scene is more biker bars, but at least here he’ll probably be able to drink in peace without folks doing coke in the bathroom or women asking if Merle is out yet and if he still knows a guy.</p><p>He puts out his cigarette, rolls up the truck windows, and makes his way to the entrance. Some pretty girls leave in sundresses laughing together, and he can hear Brooks &amp; Dunn playing before the door swings shut again.</p><p>Oh god, so it’s that kinda place. He feels a moment of relief that he’s been washing up a little and changing from his coveralls to jeans and a button up before leaving work this week since he stops by the Greene’s house. Aaron’s been giving him a lotta shit for that, wanting to know who’s the special person in his life, where’s he going, all that mess. It doesn’t help matters that Daryl’s ears automatically turn red when he’s being questioned about romance, which Aaron is taking as confirmation that there <em>is</em> someone new in his life. </p><p>Fuck’s sake. Can a man not want to get grease on a family’s couch without it meaning something more? He may not be high class, but he wasn’t raised in a fuckin’ barn. He knows he gets nasty at work with the cars, and he usually sits around for a few minutes. Leaving grease stains on the fancy furniture would be fuckin’ embarrassing, that’s all.</p><p>He’s so lost in his thoughts about Aaron (okay, so not <em>just</em> about Aaron, maybe more about what Aaron wants to know, fuck off) that he’s momentarily startled when he begins to pull the door open and feels someone pushing it at the same time. He goes to move out of the way, but the person trying to leave isn’t too steady on his feet and stumbles hard, pushing the door open. Daryl moves to block the door from continuing to swing open and sending the dude face first, holding out a hand against the man’s shoulder to steady him. He smells of bourbon, and the sun ain’t even setting yet. It’s only seven o’clock. He’s been there, but damn. It’s been a while since he was stumbling. Must be a kid or something.</p><p>The dude rocks toward him a little before steadying himself against the door that Daryl has braced and righting himself. He finds himself meeting the bleary eyes of none other than Rick Grimes, the sheriff. </p><p>Daryl’s eyes damn near bug out of his head, and he has no idea what to say. Rick mainly looks like he’s tryin’ to put two and two together and only getting three. He’s squinting like it’s takin’ all of his concentration to figure out how he’s supposed to know this dude. </p><p>He backs up to give him room to pass, but Rick still stands there, leaning on the door, staring at him.</p><p>Finally Daryl breaks the silence. It isn’t something he normally does, but this is just too damn awkward. “Uh, you okay, man?”</p><p>This breaks Rick’s trance, and he startles a little before squinting at him again. “Do I know you from somewhere?”</p><p>“Yeah, name’s Daryl. We met last weekend.” This doesn’t seem to do Rick any favors, so he adds, “your kid shot my dog.”</p><p>Rick’s eyes widen almost comically. He puts a hand on his hip, settling into his cop stands, which might be mildly intimidating if he wasn’t piss drunk. All Daryl’d have to do in a chase is fake left and he’d fall right over. “Oh, right! Shit. How’s your dog doin’?” the sheriff asks.</p><p>“He’s alright. How’s your kid?”</p><p>“He’s torn up about it, man. I tell ya, I talked to Hershel, he said you insisted on working off the bill. I told Carl, and he said he’s gonna be out there to help. Hope you like kids.”</p><p>He doesn’t. Well, except Sophia. Also, who the fuck is taking care of Carl? Daryl doesn’t know how to skirt around questions, so he just asks it. “Uh, where is he tonight exactly?”</p><p>Rick’s face closes off. “He’s at his <em>mom’s</em> house this week. We have split custody.” And with that, he begins to stride towards his truck, fumbling around in his pocket for his keys.</p><p><em>Well, shit.</em> Hesitating for a moment, he decides to play hero. He jogs to catch up with Rick and gets between him and his truck, putting up his hands. “Look, I know it ain’t my business, but I don’t think you’re ready to drive yet. You could kill somebody.”</p><p>Rick laughs a mirthless laugh. “Shit, it’s only seven! I’m not calling it quits yet. I was just coming to grab some more cash.”</p><p>This dude must be determined to lose his fuckin’ job, or the respect of the tiny town, one. Luckily Daryl has had years of experience with Merle to prepare him for this moment. Over twenty years of experience, in fact.</p><p>“Why don’t we just sit on the tailgate for a second? It’s probably hot as hell in there. You want a cigarette?” </p><p>No matter how classy and refined a southern man has become in his new family-focused, middle-aged lifestyle, his drunk eyes never fail to light up at the thought of a cigarette. Rick nods his head and follows him to the tailgate. It takes him a few tries to get up, which Daryl pretends not to notice. He hands him a lit cigarette when he finally scrambles up to perch beside him, looking a little nauseous. </p><p>Rick claps him cheerfully on the shoulder after he takes it like they’re longtime pals, despite not remembering who he was minutes before. “What’re you up to tonight, man?”</p><p>Daryl shrugs, lighting up his own smoke. “Nothin’ much, just thought I’d stop for a drink on my way home.” </p><p>“I almost didn’t recognize you at first,” laughs Rick. “You look nice all dressed up, a lot different from last weekend.”</p><p>Daryl scowls in spite of himself. For fuck’s sake, he is <em>not</em> all dressed up. It’s just a goddamn button up. Yeah, he doesn’t normally wear them, but people need to let this shit go. He’s been having to sneak past Carol when he gets home at night all week so she doesn’t start in on him too. That’s the last thing he needs.</p><p>Rick misinterprets his scowl. “Not that you were ugly or nothin’ before. You just look a lot different now.”</p><p>Daryl shoots him a warning look that shuts up his stammering. </p><p>Being naturally friendly and also drunk, Rick continues the conversation right along anyway. “Damn, I don’t remember the last time I came to a bar. Probably my bachelor party, if we’re bein’ honest. You wanna hear something fucked up?” he asks around his cigarette.</p><p>Oh, here we go, Daryl thinks. Unless he had seriously misjudged the guy (along with Hershel and Carol, apparently), there has to be some reason behind his middle of the week binge drinking. “Uh, I guess.”</p><p>“Get this. My wife – not even my ex-wife yet, we’re just separated right now – has been cheating on me, and I didn’t even know it.”</p><p>Goddamn it. This type of shit really is not Daryl Dixon’s forte. He never has any idea what to say. “Wow. That sucks,” he replies.</p><p>“No, you know what sucks?” says Rick, angrily blowing smoke out of his mouth. He’s getting worked up again now, waving his arms around. “She was fucking my best friend.” Daryl doesn’t say anything, which Rick doesn’t seem phased by, as he barely pauses anyway. “My best friend. My partner, transferred up here when I moved here so we could still work together. I trusted him with my <em>life</em>, man.  My family’s lives. We’ve been friends since elementary school. And what does he do? Start getting in my wife’s head about me being distant and start screwing her.”</p><p>That must be Walsh, then. He honestly does feel bad for Rick, but it’s still all he can do not to smirk a little. That’s kinda what you get when you trust a dude like Walsh. He’s all fake gym muscles and bravado covering his sinister core. Might as well drop your woman at his house with some condoms for the weekend for all you can trust him not to try to get in her pants. Daryl takes a long drag on his cigarette while he racks his brain for something to say. Hell, he needs a few shots for this conversation, so he can see why Rick did. Unfortunately, he has exactly zero experience with anything more than a one night stand, so he hasn’t even been in a position to be cheated on. His lack of relationship history has never really bothered him, especially now, but he sure doesn’t know what to say. </p><p>“That’s gotta be tough,” he offers. Fortunately, Rick only seems to need the weakest encouragement to keep talking. It seems like he’s just been waiting for a chance to talk about this and to find someone who would listen.</p><p>“That ain’t even the half of it. It was hard on me, yeah. But you know what I did? I fuckin’ forgave her when she apologized and said she was done with him. I held it together for my kids. Didn’t even leave her. Joke was on me, though, because then I found out a few weeks ago it wasn’t really a one time thing. Nope, it happened on and off for <em>months</em>.” Rick jumps to his feet, seemingly forgetting he’s completely wasted. He stumbles before righting himself and beginning to pace back and forth. “That’s when I started putting two and two together and realizing a lot of shit about the actual timeline. And how my daughter don’t look a thing like me.”</p><p>Oh, fuck. Jesus Christ. This is so much worse than he could have imagined. He remembers now the look on Rick’s face when he’d asked about the car seat, and the way he’d shut Carl down when he’d wanted to take his sister on a trip. Because it was actually his <em>half</em>-sister. </p><p>To his horror, Rick starts to tear up. “I got the DNA results today. I haven’t even seen her in a few weeks. Shane started some shit about needing to know paternity before she came back to stay with me. And she ain’t mine.” He leans his arms on the side of the truck bed and puts his head down. “After nine months waiting for her to be here and nine months raising her, I can’t even see my little girl anymore. She calls me da-da. She’s not gonna understand why I'm not around anymore.”</p><p>Daryl could not be any less equipped to handle this situation if he was a fucking scarecrow. He gnaws on his thumbnail and racks his brain for how to handle this. He gets to his feet, gingerly walking around the side of the truck. He tries his hardest to think, <em>what would Carol do right now?</em> Because let’s be real, that’s the only thing he knows about kindness or friendship. Or just how people should act.</p><p>He tentatively puts a hand on Rick’s back and pats it a few times (probably a little too hard, but whatever) before testing out speaking. “Fuck. I… Damn, I dunno what to say.” <em>Great. Life-changing, Dixon. You should be a fuckin’ therapist.</em> “I mean, I don’t blame ya for getting shit faced. The thing with your wife and best friend is bad enough, but this is … some fuckin’ bullshit.” </p><p>Rick brings his head back up, wiping his eyes. “Thanks. I called my mom before I came out here and she was trying to get me to calm down and be positive. She got mad at me for calling Lori a whore and all. I think that’s what I needed to hear. It <em>is</em> fuckin’ bullshit.”</p><p>Daryl feels relieved that he somehow handled the conversation appropriately. “Yeah, fuck Lori.”</p><p>Rick starts to laugh. “Fuck Lori,” he agrees. “Sorry for dumping all this on you. Once I had kids, I drifted apart from a lot of my friends. Normally I woulda talked to Shane about this, but he’s -“</p><p>Daryl chokes out a small laugh at that. “Well, I bet you got a lot to say to him, but I don’t reckon he’d be too good of a listener about this.” He pauses again to inhale and blows smoke out of his nose. “It’s alright. Sometimes you just gotta let shit out of your system. I mean, I don’t really have friends either hardly.” Because he hasn’t, not for a long time. But now he kind of does, even though it doesn’t feel true. </p><p>Rick leans up and wipes his eyes. “I knew what the results were gonna be. I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew.” </p><p>“’s messed up. I dunno what it’s like to have kids or nothing, but that has to be rough.”</p><p>Rick nods and takes a deep breath. “I’m glad I ran into you tonight, or I coulda really got out of hand. Thanks for keeping me out here. Small town sheriff and all, I gotta keep up my reputation.” He runs a hand through his hair. “This is kinda embarrassing.”</p><p> “This doesn’t hold a candle to shit I’ve done, man,” Daryl scoffs. “No judgment here.” Honestly, thinking about some of the things he’s been up to, especially in his teens and twenties, this seems downright wholesome. A few too many shots is nothing.</p><p>Rick tries to give him one of those sincere looks with sustained eye contact that Daryl generally hates, but he just looks so miserable and wasted that it isn’t quite as intolerable as usual. Then he reaches a hand to clasp Daryl on the shoulder, which Daryl twitches slightly at despite his best efforts to hold still. Rick launches into a speech about brotherhood and making new friends to replace the old ones, and Daryl smells the alcohol on his breath and wonders just how much he’s had to drink. He nods and tries to make just enough glances directly at him to be polite. Finally, Rick claps him on the shoulder one more time and gets out of his fucking bubble, completely oblivious. </p><p>“Do you need a ride home or anything?” Daryl asks.</p><p>“Nah, I can probably call…” he trails off and furrows his brow. “Shit. Not Shane.”</p><p>“I dunno, you’re three sheets to the wind right now. Be kinda funny to hear you call him.”</p><p>“I thought you wanted to go in for a drink?”</p><p>Daryl shakes his head. “Runnin’ into you like this reminded me why I ain’t done that in a while, actually.” He pulls out his keys. “Get your cash outta your truck first, though,” he adds as he sees Rick already ambling across the parking lot towards where Daryl’s much more beaten up truck. Looking sheepish, Rick turns back around. “And your gun,” adds Daryl.</p><p>A few minutes later, they’re heading back the way Daryl came from to get Rick back to his house. </p><p>“What time do you go into work tomorrow?” Daryl asks.</p><p>Rick groans, leaning his forehead against the passenger window. “Seven thirty.”</p><p>“I can run by at seven to bring you to your truck if you want.”</p><p>“Thanks, Daryl. You’re a lifesaver tonight, especially considering how we met.”</p><p>Daryl shrugs and makes a dismissive noise. </p><p>“Seriously, you’ve been real understanding.”</p><p>He shrugs again. “Sometimes I think about this kinda thing a little. ‘S not close to the same, but I think about, if something happened to Carol, I got no claim to Sophia. Dunno what would happen to her.”</p><p>He can feel Rick looking at him, and his neck heats.</p><p>Rick opens his mouth to start to say something that's probably gonna be fucking sappy, but his face sours. Instead, he shouts, “pull over!”</p><p>They stop a while for Rick to puke on the side of the road, and Daryl has never been more relieved to see someone start to vomit in his whole life. Luckily, Rick forgets about what they were talking about by the time he pulls it together and gets back in the truck.</p><p>They ride in amicable silence back the rest of the way to the Grimes’s house, other than Rick’s occasional nauseated moaning. </p><p>When Daryl pulls up to drop him off, Rick says, “Hey, we’ve both got an empty nest this week, huh?”</p><p>Daryl squints at him. “What’re you talkin’ about?”</p><p>“Well, Carl’s at his mom’s house, and Dog is at Hershel’s. We’re both on our own. Do you, uh,” Rick pauses and fiddles with his keys. “Have you ever been to the diner by the overpass?”</p><p>Daryl shakes his head. </p><p>“It’s good. Local woman runs it, tastes like homecookin’. Thought maybe you’d want to go eat with me tomorrow night?”</p><p>To his surprise, Daryl finds himself thinking maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Something about stopping for the sheriff to puke his guts out has made him a lot less intimidating. “Got nothing else to do. After my visit with Dog, that is.”</p><p>Driving home that night, he can’t help but wonder what exactly he’s gotten himself into, and also how jealous Carol will be.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Yes, it's a Vera Bradley tote bag)</p><p> </p><p>i hope this wasn't too much of a decline in quality here. i truly can't think straight on this medicine, but writing is a little easier than talking. if it was worse than usual, i apologize!</p><p>next up there will be a bit of a time jump!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. i still sing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Daryl begins work on the farm (but he needs to begin work on those insecurities, whew).</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, I’m back, with an extra long chapter to make up for my prolonged absence. I’ve been having a lot of health problems, but recently my treatment has finally started working enough that I felt like writing again (and was also capable of doing it). I hope it continues to go that way as I love to write, but I can’t make any promises. I am setting the tentative goal of at least one chapter per month, but it may be more or less.</p><p>Thanks to anyone who still wants to read this (if y’all exist!) I meant to have this up before the end of 2020, but my computer charger broke.</p><p>I am thrilled to announce: Merle makes a brief appearance in this chapter. Sort of.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daryl does end up calling Merle to tell him what happened. Normally, he finds himself waiting for Merle to call him, which usually only happens when Merle wants money on his books because he’s sick of the prison food and had a dream about Cheetos. He feels guilty about it, though. It’s his fucking brother. He should be calling once every week or two since he’s got nobody else, even though it’s expensive as hell. Damn near a dollar a minute to talk to that asshole. (He ignores the tiny, quiet little voice in his head that has taken root in the last year questioning, <em>how often would Merle call you?</em>)</p><p>He agrees to the charges and before long, his big brother’s loud ass voice rasps on the other end of the line. “Well, well, well, to what do I owe this pleasure? A call from Darylina, I ‘bout shit my britches when they called me down here.”</p><p>He exhales loudly through his nose, remembering now, <em>this</em> is why he doesn’t call. Merle is annoying as shit, and never lets up.</p><p>“Yeah, you’re fuckin’ welcome for callin’. I, uh,” he pauses, not knowing how to say it. <em>Why didn’t he rehearse this conversation at all?</em> “I just wanted to tell you. Dog got shot this weekend.”</p><p>Merle lets out a low whistle. “Shit. He alright?”</p><p>“Looks like he’s gonna be, but it was a close call. If there hadn’t been folks close to where I was hunting that knew a farm vet, he wouldn’t have made it, I don’t think.”</p><p>Merle is uncharacteristically stoic. “Well, goddamn,” he says finally. “Can’t kill a Dixon, though. We’re tough as nails. Who the fuck shot him? You gotta pull up on ‘em.”</p><p>“Naw, ‘s just some kid playin’ in the woods trying to hunt.” (He doesn’t mention, it was <em>the kid of the sheriff who locked you up</em>.)</p><p>“Still wouldn’t hurt to fire a few shots their way, let ‘em know we don’t mess around.”</p><p>“I’m not gonna shoot a damn kid, Merle.” Daryl’s voice is free of scorn, almost bored. He’s not remotely surprised his brother suggested retaliation. He’s spent too long living with Merle to be surprised by much of anything anymore. He’s a little exasperated, yeah, but he’s also kind of touched that Merle still cares about Dog this much.</p><p>“Did I say shoot a kid? When the <em>hell</em> did I say to put a cap in a little kid’s ass? I <em>said</em>, fire some shots his way. Just enough to scare ‘em, that’s all. Maybe bust out a window. Let ‘em know we don’t fuck around about our dog.”</p><p>“Bro, you’re in jail. Aren’t they monitoring this shit?”</p><p>“It ain’t like I told you to come bring me some crystal stuck up your asshole! ‘S not illegal to fire a gun in Georgia. Besides--” Merle is cut off, and he hears some rustling. Then his brother’s voice comes through again, but muffled. “Shit, Officer Hawthorne, it was a fuckin’ joke. I said I <em>ain’t</em> tellin’ him to do it, <em>goddamn</em>. I was kiddin’. Not like you’d know a joke if it slapped you in the face, huh?” There’s another pause, where apparently the officer is replying, and then he hears Merle laughing. “Sorry about that, little brother. The CO up here is one nosy bitch, I’ll tell you that much--” </p><p>The line abruptly goes dead.</p><p>Some things never change with Merle Dixon.</p>
<hr/><p>Daryl ends up deciding to have Dog stay at the Greenes through Thursday, since he would be left alone all day anyway if he got him back Wednesday. He takes his first day off that he’s ever taken on Friday, so that he can have the three-day weekend to help him recover. When Aaron finds out what he needs the day off for (after a lot of nosy pestering, since he seems to think it’s some kind of romantic date for some fuckin’ reason, probably these goddamn button-ups that he needs to burn), he gives him Friday and Monday off with pay. Daryl tries to protest, but Aaron insists that it’s paid family leave, because Dog is family. Admittedly, Dog has sometimes gone in the past to “bring your kid to work day”, which consists of Tyreese’s little girl, Aaron and his husband’s Chihuahua, and Dog.</p><p>Even though he couldn’t have been more relieved to get Dog back home, he realizes that he actually kinda missed Beth’s good morning texts with pictures of Dog attached. He finds he misses more than a few things about Beth, actually. There’s something comfortable about sitting with her. He ended up staying at the Greene’s later and later each night, except for the night he went to the diner with Rick. There was something peaceful about just laying on the floor, absentmindedly stroking Dog, and listening to the lilt of her voice while he did his best to give more than one worded answers. She got self-conscious one night after telling him a story about something one of the cows did that day, and blushed when she finished telling it. She stood up real fast and said again that she’d give them some privacy now, and he just goes “nah,” the king of one-word responses that he is. It just came out before he could stop it this time, because he was exhausted from working doubles this week to get a head start on the vet bill, and the rhythmic petting of Dog and the almost musical tone of her voice were making him feel content in a way he hadn’t felt maybe ever. But right from meeting her, she had a way of drawing that shit out of him, didn’t she? Hell, he talked about his ma the day they met. He don’t even talk about her with Merle. Or Carol. Or nobody. He thought the pieces of him that could burnt up with her that day.</p><p>Part of why he doesn’t mind talking to her about this stuff though is she never presses him to say more. She seems to get meaning out of his grunts and minimal response enough to carry the conversation right along, like she knows what he’s thinking. And so she just looked at him, and he looked back, and she gave him a small smile and said “okay,” and sat right back down.</p><p>Every day after that, she stays in the living room and talks to him. At first, he’s so embarrassed from how much he talked the day they met that he’s hardly saying anything at all. But Beth isn’t one to be deterred, and after a few days, he kinda starts talking back. Nothing of the substance of that first fated day, but he contributes a little. He mainly likes hearing about her day. It feels almost normal. He hesitantly starts volunteering little stories about his day too, which she seems to enjoy way more than they are worth enjoying. Every time he volunteers something about himself, no matter how trivial, her eyes light up like she’s just found where another piece goes in a puzzle she’s putting together.</p><p>So, yeah. He did kinda miss her texts first thing in the morning today. But that first morning he woke up to a sound he would never take for granted again: the sound of Dog’s impatient little whines. He still has to sleep in the crate for now, because Hershel doesn’t want to risk him trying to jump onto the bed or couch and hurting himself before he’s healed. Also, he can’t exactly walk yet, so Daryl taking him out to potty consists of carrying him out there and using a trick Hershel taught him. He uses an old towel folded long ways, running it under his back legs and holding the ends to support his weight for him. With Daryl holding him up, Dog is able to hobble along and go potty. They’re also doing some little doggy physical therapy exercises together every morning to keep the strength up in his leg muscles. He couldn’t feel any luckier to know he’s expected to make a full recovery.</p><p>Friday night while lying on the floor with Dog (he’s moved the comforter from the bed in here, deciding Dog won’t have to sleep in the crate tonight if they’re both on the floor), he’s surprised to receive a text from Beth around nine-thirty. When he sees her name pop up in his notifications, he feels an unfamiliar lurch in his stomach. What the hell could she want on a Friday night? Was it an accident? She’s too good for it to be a drunk dial. Maybe he left something of Dog’s over there. With slightly sweaty palms, he unlocks his phone.</p><p>Beth: Tell Dog I said goodnight! :)</p><p>Daryl: huh?</p><p>Beth: We had a routine. We watch tv in the living room and cuddle about this time of night. I kinda miss him</p><p>Daryl shot a look at Dog, who gives him an innocent wag. Cuddlin, huh? Must take after Uncle Merle, not him.</p><p>Daryl: oh. alright</p><p>Daryl: bet he liked that.</p><p>Beth: Did you actually say it to him out loud?</p><p>Daryl: say what?</p><p>Beth: Say Goodnight!!! That’s why I texted u lol</p><p>Daryl: ain’t doin that</p><p>[Incoming Facetime call from Beth Greene]</p><p>Shit. He had just been thinking about how he didn’t know if he’d see Beth much working on the farm, and wondering if their talks were over now. He didn’t fully understand why because it made him nervous as hell, but he doesn’t exactly dread talking to her. Doesn’t hate it. He doesn’t think he likes it either, and quite frankly, he doesn’t really want to analyze it enough to figure out how it is he feels. All he knows is right now, he’s a jumbled mess of anxiety and something else he can’t put his finger on seeing she’s calling his phone. Something else he’s maybe never felt before, not like this.</p><p>Daryl hastily smoothes down his rumpled hair the best he can, reaching over to smooth out Dog’s fur as well, before accepting the call.</p><p>The picture loads, and Beth’s grinning face and big blue eyes fill the screen. Which is why he almost doesn’t realize at first that he forgot he isn’t wearing a shirt. Right. At least the phone only shows the tops of his shoulders. Most of his scars are on his back, and the few on his chest aren’t showing. Because of that, he’s more worried about looking like a pervert, answering the video call without puttin’ on a shirt first.</p><p>If Beth notices, she doesn't say anything. She seems more worried about Dog right now, anyway. “How’s my little man?” she coos. “Adjust the phone a little bit, Daryl, I can only see half his face.”</p><p>“It’s my phone, not his,” he grumbles as he complies.</p><p>“Well, he don’t have a phone. He’s just a baby, so I gotta call his daddy to say goodnight. Aren’t you just a baby, Dog?”</p><p>To his disgust, Dog wriggles more onto his side, wagging his tail and exposing his belly as much as his still-healing wound will allow. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, and he nudges the phone with his snoot, damn near knocking it out of Daryl’s hand. He’s in pure bliss.</p><p>“I see you rollin’ your eyes at me, Daryl Dixon.”</p><p>“You didn’t even have the mutt a week, and you spoiled him rotten. He’s fallin’ all over himself to talk to you. ‘s bullshit.”</p><p>She grins, and the shine of her teeth light up the screen. She seems to be laying down in a semi-dark room too. Which sucks, he’s kinda curious about what her room looks like. Not that he has any business wondering. He doesn’t mean it in a sexual way, she just always dresses interesting when he sees her. Bright sundresses, pretty bracelets, braids. She seems like she would have a pretty bedroom. He’s curious what her space looks like.</p><p>Fuck, now he really sounds gay. Too much time with Aaron.</p><p>“You know darn well that dog was already spoiled. He had a big bag full of toys and his own blanket. I can’t help it if we bonded a little. Now I’m having to finish this season of Gilmore Girls without him.”</p><p>“Dog don’t like that sissy show anyway.”</p><p>“How do you even know what Gilmore Girls is, if it’s such a sissy show?”</p><p>Damn. He’s been caught. “Uh, I might watch it with Sophia sometimes. ‘s her favorite. Just ‘cause she likes it though.”</p><p>“So do you like Rory better with Dean or Jess?”</p><p>“Jess. Dean’s a fuckin’ weirdo,” he replies without thinking, having had this conversation with Sophia many times.</p><p>She cackles triumphantly, and he groans. He just prays she can’t see the blush he definitely feels coming on with just the glow of the tv.</p><p>“Don’t you got anything better to do on a Friday night than mess with me?” he asks, wanting to jab back at her. He feels kinda bad after, like it was too mean, but she just smirks.</p><p>“I mean, I’m sure I could find something better to do if you’re complaining.” But she can’t keep those pink lips from quirking up, and she’s showing glimpses of her teeth. It’s like she knows <em>he</em> has nothing better to do. Hell, she probably does. She bites her lip to keep down her smile, but it doesn’t work. Daryl doesn’t look at the tiny little preview of himself up in the corner, but if he did, he would see that he’s almost maybe just about to smile too. But he doesn’t recognize that feeling, not in this context.</p><p>“What are y’all doing?” she asks.</p><p>“Just layin’ on the floor watching tv. Not Gilmore Girls, though, so don’t start that shit again.”</p><p>“Don’t be such a macho man. There’s nothin’ wrong with watching Gilmore Girls. Hey, what’s your tattoo say?”</p><p>He glances down, having already forgotten he isn’t wearing a shirt. His skin prickles. Other than his tattoo artists, who he was too fucked up to have any memory of whatsoever, no one has ever seen him shirtless in his life. Even having sex, he has never done more than undo his belt and maneuver a little. He wears his clothes like an armor, as if they can shield him from more than just questions and looks. Honestly, most of the time, he forgets he has tattoos at all. The scars aren’t so easy to forget.</p><p>“’s my mom’s name,” he mumbles.</p><p>“That’s really sweet. When did you get it?”</p><p>He shrugs a little, then remembers she probably can’t tell between the dim lighting and the fact that she can’t see his other shoulder on the camera. “Uh, shit. I dunno. I was a teenager, I think. It needs touchin’ up now, it’s kinda smudged. I never get around to it.”</p><p>“The one on your arm was cool too. I didn’t mention it then though, it didn’t seem like a good time.”</p><p>He may be a little more adapted to nice humans these days thanks to Carol, but compliments are still new and uncomfortable territory. Everything she’s saying is perfectly polite. There would be no reason for her to lie and say that she likes his tattoos. None at all. And yet he feels embarrassed and overwhelmingly self conscious. His cheeks feel hot, and he’s grateful she can’t tell in this lighting. “They’re kinda shitty. I never went to like a real place for some of ‘em. Some of my brother buddies got a tattoo gun, and I was-” he pauses on the cusp of saying ‘tripping balls’. “I was, uh, hanging with my brother a lot back then.”</p><p>She gives him a tiny smile. “I still think they’re cool. They make you look tough.”</p><p>He snorts. “You sayin’ I don’t already look tough?”</p><p>“No, you do. It just adds to your image, that’s all.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes. “I don’t have no ‘image’.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, Daryl. Sure. No tough guy image here. Just a dude watchin’ Gilmore Girls.” Her grin lights up the screen.</p><p>“Swear I’m gonna hang up on you, girl.”</p><p>“Just hand the phone to Dog instead, then. We weren’t done talkin’.”</p><p>She giggles again, and he rolls his eyes.</p><p>“You got any tattoos?” he asks. He’s learned that one way to hold a conversation is to ask the same question back. He’s learning.</p><p>She raises an eyebrow, and he can’t quite place the look on her face. “Daddy doesn’t really like tattoos.”</p><p>He narrows his eyes. “That ain’t what I asked,” he replies. She grins almost mischievously, not quite looking at the camera. She might even be blushing a little, but it’s hard to tell over FaceTime.</p><p>Holy shit. Now his eyes are probably bugging out of his head. Who would have thought the farmer’s Christian daughter would have a rebel side?</p><p>“That a yes?”</p><p>She giggles a little. “Yeah, I do. My daddy doesn’t know, so don’t mention it around him.”</p><p>“What do you have?”</p><p>“I got a little bird after I- after my mama and my brother died. I kinda went through a hard time for a while after that, and I lost myself. Forgot who I was. It felt like… like I didn’t know how to live without them for a while. So I got a bird in their memory, kind of. But also to remind myself that I can feel pain and not let it swallow me, you know? So now when I look at it, it still hurts, but I can keep going. I can be happy sometimes too. I still sing.”</p><p>“Like a songbird?”</p><p>She smiles wide. “Exactly like a songbird.”</p><p>“I like that,” he replies. It’s simple, but she seems to understand that he means it with every part of his being. And he doesn’t like much. But he’s starting to like her. “I bet it’s done better than mine.”</p><p>“I think yours are nice! I got mine done in Atlanta visiting my sister so I could keep it a secret from my dad. I would show it to you. But it’s kind of in a… private place.”</p><p>His eyebrows raise a little before he can stop it. He never in a million years thought Beth fucking Greene would have a tattoo hidden away, even if it does have a special meaning.</p><p>“Stop lookin’ at me like that! I had to get it somewhere there’s no way my dad could see it. We go to the beach every summer, so a swimsuit had to cover it.”</p><p>Well, that narrows down the list of possibilities of where her tattoo is even further. Which takes his mind down a path he didn’t expect to go down. His stomach lurches.</p><p>“Whatever you say, girl.”</p><p>When they finally do hang up, about thirty minutes later, he stares at the blank screen on his phone for a few minutes, dazed, before realizing he’s still on the home page and hitting the lock button. He has never talked to anyone on the phone for over ten minutes in his fucking life. Much less thought about them in their bathing suit while talking. What the hell?</p>
<hr/><p>He sends Beth a few pictures of Dog here and there when she asks, and she texts him a few times. Which is something he never expected to look forward to as much as he does, to the point where he has gone from the kinda guy who forgets to even take his phone off the charger in the morning to checking it first thing to see if she’s messaged him. He never texts her first. He doesn’t want to bother her. He figures that if she wants to talk to him, she will. He’s determined not to be one of those creepy older guys who takes a younger girl’s friendliness too far, and makes her uncomfortable or gets on her nerves. Because he doesn’t want that, not really. He likes talking to her, he really does. In a way that he has never liked or even been able to talk to anyone, even Carol. But he can’t even wrap his mind around taking it further than just talking. Has no idea how he would even do something like that, or if he would even want to. He just knows he really, genuinely is starting to think that who she is, everything she has shown to him, is a really good person.</p><p>A really young person. Barely legal to drink. But a good person.</p><p>Their texting has cooled off considerably since those first few days, and he allows himself to be a little sad about it.  He can’t shake the feeling like he almost had something, held it solid in his hand, felt its edges, and then watched it slip through his fingers. Not even something romantic, his brain won’t allow him to process that far. It just felt like something different. Something kinda scary but also comfortable.</p><p>After almost a week, their texting falters off and he doesn’t hear from her again, to the point that it feels like a dream.</p><p>Sometimes he rereads their messages to assure himself it did in fact happen. That it was something, even if it wasn’t quite the something on paper that it felt like abstractly. Because a few texts and that hour long call to most people isn’t as unusual as it is to him. It meant something for him.</p><p>He’d never had anything like that before.</p><p>If Carol has noticed his sullen mood in the last few days, she is for once having the good sense to leave him alone and not press about it.</p>
<hr/><p>The next few weeks fly by in a haze of work days and potty breaks. Hershel told him not to worry about starting working on the farm for a few weeks, just to worry about Dog getting better. He spends his lunch breaks going home to take Dog on heavily assisted potty breaks. When Sophia gets out of school, she uses her key to spend time with him until Daryl gets off at 5, so he isn’t alone all day.</p><p>Before he knows it, Dog is starting to hobble along without his towel sling and is even making efforts to play again. His new bright orange collar comes in the mail, which Daryl puts on him immediately. He’s not taking any chances, even though they’re just in the woods by the shack he rents these days. Sophia had to teach him how to order shit off something called Amazon, which she got a real kick out of. Before stoppin’ in this town, he never had a fucking debit card, got paid under the table in cash that he kept rolled in a sock to hide from Merle. He’s not too sure how he feels about typing in his card number on the Internet. Feels an awful lot like leaving your wallet in plain sight at a crackhead’s house and going to the bathroom. However, both Sophia and Carol swear they’ve ordered stuff on there before, and it’ll be fine.</p>
<hr/><p>When the Saturday he’s supposed to start workin’ on the farm rolls around, he’s a bundle of nerves. Way more than he should be. He barely slept, and he wakes up feeling vaguely nauseous. It’s not about the job. He’s the furthest thing from over confident, but he does know he’s reasonably strong. Not the strongest, but he wouldn’t have survived in the life this world put him in if he wasn’t at least reasonably strong. He’s done plenty of manual labor jobs before and never had any problems. It’s not about the farm work at all. It’s about the girl.</p><p>Since it’s a weekend, both Carol and Sophia are home, and they’ve happily agreed to keep Dog company. He suspects this is both because they love Dog about as much as he does, and <em>also</em> because they don’t have a TV in the RV. Not that he gets more than like ten channels, but still. They come over to watch his a reasonable amount, and he lets them pick more often than he does. But Carol and Sophia are the type of TV watchers who like to whisper and make commentary, and he’s sure they are thrilled to do that without his glares and grumbles to shut up and just <em>watch</em> it.</p>
<hr/><p>Hershel had told him to come on up to the house when gets there, and they could drink some coffee, discuss more logistics about what needs doing, and agree on an hourly wage to go towards the bill.</p><p>I mean, he saved his dog’s life, so he was gonna agree to whatever the hell the man wanted, but whatever. Even at Dog’s checkup that week (at the vet office in town, this time) he’d waved him away at the time of billing and said they could add it to his hours. However Hershel wants to do this, he’s gonna do it as long as it involves paying him back somehow. As much as he was a nervous fucking wreck leading up to that appointment, there was no sign of Beth. Which just made today even more nerve wracking. He can’t decide what would be worse, her being there or not being there. He’s embarrassed to see her. That feeling of shame has come back from the day they met, the things he said. Even though she talked about her mom too, he knows however her mama died, it wasn’t burning her drunk ass up with a cigarette. An event that the older he gets, the more he wonders if it was on some type of unconscious level done on purpose.</p><p>He shakes his head, focuses on the road to the farm again. Thinking about literally anything at all that happened to him over a year ago is only going to further ruin his mood and his day. These folks definitely didn’t see the stable side of him the day they met, so he’d like to come across at least mildly put together today. If at all possible.</p><p>But still, fuck. He’s embarrassed again of not only being vulnerable with this random person – something he has never done in his fucking <em>life</em>, even with Carol at first. He doesn’t know why it happened. He doesn’t know why he kept talking to this girl day after day. (Or rather, listening to her talk.) He doesn’t know why he liked the sound of her voice, why she texted him, why she called him.</p><p>Why she stopped. Whether it meant anything to her or she’s just nice, the kind of person who talks to everyone like that in a way he never has.</p><p>He’s probably gonna see her at some point today, even if it’s just in passing. He’s determined to keep his cool. Act like he just casually meets people and texts them a little bit all the time. Oh well. He won’t turn down a cup of coffee, even if it means talking to Hershel in the house. He was out of coffee grounds this morning, and pretty much everything else grocery-wise too. He has a bitch of a headache, even though he only had two beers last night. Besides, he remembers from the morning Beth made breakfast there after he spent the night that their coffee was a hell of a lot better than the cheap shit he buys anyway. Her cookin’ was better than his, too, but that ain’t no surprise.</p><p>All morning his gut has been churning to where he doesn’t even think he can eat. He has a granola bar he grabbed thinking he’ll eat it on the way, but it’s sitting untouched in the cup holder. His mouth is dry and his stomach is coiled. He hates that he cares this much that he’s finally gonna see her, probably. He doesn’t understand why he cares. Any feeling he does understand he relegates to pissed off. That he understands.</p><p>He’d driven up that long driveway to the farmhouse every day for a week since that fateful day, but it is no less intimidating to him now, with its enormous white presence looming long before he makes his way all the way up the drive and parks.</p><p>It’s Beth who opens the door. Of course it is. He doesn’t know if it being Beth is the universe giving him the middle finger as usual or a small kindness.</p><p>Something flashes across her face before she smiles at him. It’s her usual smile, that smile that punches him in the gut every time. Beautiful and bright and yet a reminder of everything he isn’t, and never will be.</p><p>He can’t figure out quite what that emotion was on her face before she put it away. He doesn’t want to know what’s on his face, either. But then again, he never does. He doesn’t quite smile, but he’s happy to see her again. But also a little sad and more than a little anxious in ways he can’t explain.</p><p>“Hey,” she says. It’s softer, more subdued. Yeah, there’s something there. He may have no damn social skills to the point that he has wondered more than once over the past thirty something years if in fact his father was right all along, that he was too ‘fucking retarded’ to make it in this world. But the vibe is different here. He can make out energies in a room, even if he can’t act normal to save his life. Because right now his mouth is dry as sandpaper and he can’t make himself say shit. He nods in a way that he hopes comes across as hello. He must have done something to fuck up this friendship before it even began.</p><p>She’s not wearing makeup, and her freckles pop out on her face like stars in the country night sky. He glances at them when he does look at her, because the few seconds of eye contact he managed to make scalded him. Her gaze is even more intense than he remembered. She has the kind of eyes that will cut right through you if you let them.</p><p>“You wanna come in?”</p><p>He’s suddenly hyper aware of every square inch of his scarred body. When he was stoppin’ by after work right after the accident, he changed first and scrubbed up at the sink, embarrassed of his oil and grease stains. But now he’s here for a day of work, and even though he’s clean, he’s more aware than usual of the way his already second hand clothes scrounged from Salvation Armys  all across the state of Georgia are threadbare and holey, and of the way his too-long hair hangs in his face. He doesn’t remember the last time he tried to trim it. </p><p>She’s wearing a powder blue tank top that brings out her eyes, and he can see a little lace underneath. Her jeans aren’t new but they’re of better quality than his. Not cheap material.</p><p>Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure the jeans he’s got on have a hole at one of the back belt loops from being hitched up so much, and you can see the color of his underwear. But he’s only got one presentable pair, and he ain’t about to dirty them up to impress nobody. Even folks like the Greenes.</p><p>She moves aside even though he hasn’t said anything back, and he walks into the house. He can smell a hint of her perfume, kinda floral but not too much. More like honeysuckle than roses. She smells good.</p><p>She leads him back to the kitchen and gestures for him to sit at the table. “Daddy’ll be down in a minute. Black, right?”</p><p>He squints at her in confusion. “Your coffee,” she clarifies. “You liked it black?”</p><p>He nods and thanks her. He’s got no idea what to do with his hands, so he settles on picking at his cuticles mercilessly.</p><p>She returns to the table with two mugs, one with black coffee and one with creamer. His mug is a souvenir from another place he’s never been, another reminder of the miles between him and this family.</p><p>She goes back to the stove and fixes them both a plate of eggs and bacon.</p><p>“I coulda did that. Fixed my own plate,” he says as he takes his from her.</p><p>“You’re a guest.”</p><p>He takes a bite before he remembers to thank her, sheepishly with a mouth full of food. His stomach still kinda hurts, but it smells so damn good he can’t hold back from digging in. Him thanking her with his mouth full gets a tiny small out of her.</p><p>“How’ve y’all been?” she asks.</p><p>“Alright. Dog’s doin’ better. Walkin’ better.”<br/>
She smiles. “Good. You should bring him out here once he’s back to normal, I bet he’d like to run around while you work.”</p><p>He nods. “Yeah, I could do that.” He pauses, a piece of bacon in hand. “How’re you doin’?”</p><p>“I’ve been pretty good. Just keeping busy with work and the farm.” She glances at him, and he notices she’s picking at her nails with the hand she’s not eating with, just like he is.</p><p>
  <em>So she’s just been too busy to talk, that’s all. Maybe he didn’t do anything stupid to mess it up.</em>
</p><p>“That’s good,” he says. </p><p>Somehow it’s never been awkward between them before, but it is now. And she doesn’t say anything to fill it this time, just stirs her coffee. He racks his brain for something he can say or do to break the tension. But before he can say anything, Hershel comes in and fixes himself a plate. As he sits down and begins to outline the work that needs to be done, Beth quietly excuses herself. He forces himself to compartmentalize it for now. Because he sure has no idea what’s wrong with her. Hell, maybe nothing’s wrong with her and he’s just overthinking this. He has been thinking about her way too much. It’s probably nothing to her. (He’s probably nothing to her.)</p><p>He focuses on the day ahead, what he’s gotta do. Like he always has. He doesn't allow himself anything else.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Who is Merle’s CO, hmmm….?</p><p>I also snuck one of my favorite Beth quotes in there.</p><p>I hope someone out there still cares about reading this, because I definitely still care about writing it! Let me know what you think, what works, what didn't. I'm a little rusty! Please comment if you still want me to write this, Daryl isn't the only one who is insecure hehe</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>See also: Daryl Dixon finds himself and his family without the ZA</p><p>This has everyone in the time in between season 3 – season 4 with their character development (if Farmer Rick wasn’t a dead giveaway), except Daryl is probably more early season 3, since Merle is still alive.</p><p>Thanks for reading! 💛</p></blockquote></div></div>
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